


The Long Way Home

by ninetyfive



Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Fantasy, Fluff, Magic, Mark is a little angsty and insecure, Multi, Polyamory, So much kissing, injured Mark, no cars were damaged in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 06:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 43,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18278039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninetyfive/pseuds/ninetyfive
Summary: The boys are on a road trip to test out a new car that they’ve been given for free. When the car breaks down in the middle of a frightening English forest, Mark offers to look for help in the woods so Gary can get some alone time with his crush, Howard. When Mark suddenly goes missing and gets badly injured, Gary has to own up to the fact that Howard isn’t the only band member he’s in love with.Or: that time TT3 get stranded in the middle of an English woodland and they end up finding out they’re all in love with each other. Featuring a magical wooden cabin that ships the hell out of the lads.





	1. Into the wild

Gary knew they shouldn’t have let Howard drive. He’s a tremendous driver, Howard is, but he likes it fast, and that’s pretty much how they’ve ended up stranded on a forest road in the middle of nowhere because _someone_ decided it was a good idea to drive over a pothole at sixty miles an hour.

Howard thinks the car breaking down is beautiful. The moment they hit the pothole and they come to a sudden halt in the middle of the road, unable to start the car again, he pretty much leaps out of the car and starts inspecting the tyres. He’s actually grinning from ear to ear, he’s such a car geek. He enthusiastically announces that assessing the damage will take him at least ten minutes, and Gary and Mark share a worried look in the car.

‘What do _we_ do?’ Gary asks, looking over his shoulder to see Mark sitting on the backseat. He isn’t very keen on helping Howard out, to be honest.

‘I don’t know. I suppose I could take some pictures of the forest on me phone,’ Mark thinks out loud. His attention darts all over the place. He’s desperate to take in everything he can see from his passenger window, like the trees and the bushes. ‘I’ve always loved forests. There was this period of me life I actually wanted to live in the countryside, you know, with horses and maybe duck pond.’

‘I don’t think you’re going to see any horses ‘round here.’

‘Do you not?’

‘No.’

‘Oh. Oh well,’ Mark shrugs, his pleasant expression not wavering. He gets out of the car anyway and starts taking artistic Instagram-worthy photos of their surroundings: the road that was supposed to take them to London right in front of him, framed on either side by the verdant greens of the forest; and the trees all around him.

Though it doesn’t look old, the road is covered in potholes like a meteor shower hit it. The white stripe dividing the two sides of the road has faded in places. Every now and then, a bird lands at the side of the road, mistaking it for fertile ground. The air feels bitterly cold. A strong breeze makes Mark’s long hair move in the wind. Their orange Suzuki is the only car he has seen for ages.

Having spent over thirty minutes on the forest road already, the forest is obviously enormous. If Mark looks to his left or right, he can see nothing but trees and thick foliage, stretched out as far as the eye can see. Beams of light cascade through the tree’s barren branches. Big piles of leaves have accumulated underneath the trees, leftovers from last month’s autumn storms. The road in front of him is endless. If he were to leave the road and head into the forest, he’d get lost within minutes. He shivers just thinking about it.

But in spite of the unpleasantness of being stranded, there’s something quite magical about the forest. Mark can feel that there’s something in the air; something that you can’t really see with the naked eye.

The best way he can describe it is by likening it to that sensation he always gets two minutes before show-time: those pleasant little butterflies in his tummy that he can only share with two (sometimes four, sometimes three) other people in the world. Something in the forest has a magical, fantastical quality, and he has no idea where it’s coming from. The only thing he knows for sure is that it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

It’s a bit silly, but Mark absolutely loves being here. Out of all the members in the band, he’s always been the one with the most enthusiasm for the small things in life, like a caterpillar munching on grass or the way the light is cascading through the branches that look like cracks in the sky. Over the course of just five seconds, he has taken as many pictures of a single leaf still clinging to a branch.

Gary can’t say he shares Mark’s appreciation of the forest’s natural wonders. He supposes there’s beauty somewhere if you happen to look at the trees at the right time, when the light catches a leaf fluttering down a tree or when a bird passes by, but right now he sees nothing but dirt and broken leaves clinging to the soles of Mark’s shoes. The only beauty he can see around here is his two bandmates, looking more beautiful than they have any right to be.

For a moment, Gary loses himself in the sight of Howard unscrewing a bolt with a screwdriver. He finds himself staring just a bit too hard at Mark grinning at the photo he took with his smartphone. He gets butterflies looking at Howard’s hands pulling something from the “Suzuki” toolbox that came with the car. His tummy does an acrobatic backflip when he sees Mark biting his lip as he takes a particularly challenging photo of a tree.

There was a time when Gary would have wanted nothing more than having Howard’s hands touching him or having Mark smiling at him like he’s much more than just a mate, but those days are over now. You can’t be in a group with someone and have a crush on them at the same time. He learned that the hard way.

Knowing this, Gary stops staring and joins Howard in his attempt to fix the tyres. ‘You getting anywhere with that car, How?’

Howard shakes his head. He nods at the tyre to his right. ‘I haven’t got a _clue_ what’s ‘appened, to be honest. I thought I’d damaged one of the tyres cos I was driving too fast, but there’s nothing wrong with them. I don’t get it.’

‘Then why won’t the car start again? It’s brand new.’ Gary rubs the back of his head. He doesn’t know as much about cars as Howard does. ‘Have you checked since we broke down? You could try starting it again.’

‘I have. The car has gone _completely_ flat.’

 ‘That’s . . . weird.’

‘I know. It’s like it’s just turned itself off.’ _Like magic,_ Howard almost adds, but he swallows it at the last moment. ‘I’ve never seen this happen with a brand new car before.’

The car in question, a gift from Suzuki to thank the boys for taking part in a fun advertising campaign, was given to them only this morning, when they wrapped their first and final commercial at a local florist. With Howard being the only petrol head in the band, he ended up being the one getting the car even though orange isn’t really his colour and he’s more into old race cars. He thought he’d try out the Vitara by taking a long detour back home, to London, but it turns out the car doesn’t do well on forest roads. Either that, or the car has decided to break down deliberately.

But that can’t happen, Howard thinks. Cars don’t “decide” to just break down for no reason.

‘It could be an issue that’s more widespread,’ Howard thinks out loud. He can see Gary raising his eyebrows. ‘If this affects not just our car but other people’s as well, a _lot_ of people could be in trouble. We have to let the people from Suzuki know that something’s happened as soon as we can.’

‘I don’t think that’s going to be possible, you know.’ This comes from Mark, returning from the side of the road where he just spent the past ten minutes taking photos of a caterpillar feasting on a fresh leaf. He shows the lads his phone. He’s turned the photo of the tiny green creature into his background pic. ‘There’s no signal, see?’

Howard and Gary both check their smartphones. Mark’s right: they’ve ventured so deep inside the woods that their phones can’t get a signal.

Suddenly the forest doesn’t look so pretty anymore. Mark looks at the lifeless car, then at his surroundings. There’s the road, heading down a hill into the unknown, and then the trees all around them, huddled so closely together that he can’t see into the forest for more than ten or fifteen metres. After that, the forest becomes an undistinguishable mass of trees, branches, grass, moss and foliage. Heaven knows what lies behind those trees.

‘What do we do?’ Gary asks. He doesn’t like the idea of staying in the forest one bit. Like Mark, he finds himself sensing a something _else_ in the forest, something _more_ , like when you think you can feel someone watching you from the corner of your eye.

‘We could look for help,’ Mark suggests, though he doesn’t sound very convinced that there’s someone around to help them at all.

‘It’s too dangerous,’ Howard chimes in, recalling the journey it took them to get here. They didn’t see any houses on the way here and their car is the only one that has been on this road for hours. Not to mention the fact that the forest looks like one of those remote places where people get brutally murdered in horror movies. ‘It’s going to be dark in less than an hour. I’ll just check the tyres again. Maybe I’ve missed something. I probably have, knowing me.’

‘What happens if you don’t fix the car?’ asks Mark.

‘We’ll be going campin’.’

Mark gulps as Howard disappears behind the hood of the car with some spanners and screwdrivers from the toolbox that he found in the car earlier. He’s pretty sure the toolbox wasn’t there when the people from Suzuki handed him the keys this morning, but he’s not complaining.

With Howard hard at work on his own, Mark and Gary have no choice but to entertain themselves while they wait for their mate to fix the car. At first Mark considers taking some more photos and seeing if his friend the Green Caterpillar is still munching on that leaf on the ground, but then he gets a better idea. He reaches into the deep pockets of his oversized coat and comes away with a copy of Gary’s latest autobiography, _A Better Me_. It looks battered and earmarked.

Gary snorts at seeing his book suddenly appearing in Mark’s hands. ‘Were you carrying that the entire time?’

‘I like having it with me on the road,’ Mark says, leafing through his earmarked copy of the book to find the chapter he was reading last, a chapter about one of Gary’s many diets. ‘Reading it makes me feel calm, you know.’

‘You mean you think it’s boring,’ Gary jokes. ‘You should try the audiobook – that’ll put you right to sleep, that will.’

‘No, I really do like it. Now, where shall I sit and read this?’ Forgetting for a moment that _the car is right there,_ Mark looks around him for a place to sit, like a clean patch of grass or a tree stump. Mark saw on the television once that being one with nature is very good for your mental health, and he’s not going to let this chance to calm his mind pass him by.

In the end, Mark settles for a comfortable-looking tree stump a bit farther away from the car. On his way there, his fake but otherwise very expensive snakeskin boots sink deep into a puddle of mud and blubber. His face scrunches up with distaste.

Gary laughs out loud. Even when Mark is almost a foot-deep into blubber, he still manages to look adorable. ‘I thought you said you wanted to live in the countryside, mate?’

Mark tries to pull up his shoe from the puddle of blubber, but he only ends up getting more stuck. ‘Don’t just stand there laughing, Mr Barlow – I’m stuck, look!’

Gary comes over to help pull Mark’s boot from the blubber. This takes quite a bit of manoeuvring and Gary having to take a hold of Mark’s lower leg, and by the time Mark’s boot has escaped the blubber Gary has gone worryingly red in the face. When Mark asks him why he looks so red and whether he’s all right and if he wants to sit down somewhere to catch his breath in case he’s about to get a heart attack, Gary awkwardly mumbles something about not having had enough exercise lately.

In the end, they both agree to stay in the car.

They take a seat on the backseat of the car whilst Howard does very complicated things to the car engine. The backseat is quite large, but it’s filled with freebies and goodie bags from Suzuki – useless presents, really, for the boys from Take That are obviously quite rich. As a result, the lads end up having to sit quite closely together, inches apart. When Mark’s knee accidentally brushes his thigh, Gary’s tummy is flipped over like a pancake.

It’s funny really, that Gary’s spent the past thirty years travelling the world with his bandmates and that they still don’t know how much he fancies them. Considering that he turns quite red every time Mark so much smiles at him, you’d think they’d know by now.

He still remembers when his feelings started even now. They were in the studio together. Jason had just told them that he was definitely not going to come back to the band, and they’d spent an entire day writing miserable, sad songs they would never have written otherwise. They didn’t know if they were going to stay together then. Judging by the songs they’d written, they were probably better off calling it a day.

Then they accidentally wrote the first verse of _These Days_ and Gary looked up at Howard and Mark smiling for the first time in days, and it was like a light switching on. With Rob and Jason both gone, Gary found himself realising that he needed Howard and Mark as more than just bandmates. He needed them to be his brothers; his rocks; his best friends; his lighthouse in the dark.

Looking at the songs they had written in the aftermath of Jason’s departure – songs that never made it to _III_ because they were too sad for a band known for its anthems –, they needed to stick together more than ever. They needed to turn a negative into a positive. They had to show the world that Take That could work together as a three-piece band by writing the happiest collection of pop songs they’d ever written. _III_ was that collection.

But something else was happening too. In between writing the first chords of _These Days_ and _Lovelife_ , Gary discovered something else about this new, unfamiliar Take That. He found himself slowly falling in love with Mark trying to cheer him up in the studio. He fell himself falling for the way Howard would constantly try to make light of the situation. He felt butterflies just looking at his bandmates walking into a studio together. The feeling crept up on him one day and hasn’t faltered since.

However. Gary knows that there’s nothing he can do about his feelings, and so many songs, stadiums and cities have gone by since falling in love that he’s pushed them to the back of his mind. He still loves his mates in _that_ way, but he doesn’t see the point of ever telling them. Why throw away thirty years of friendship for a romance that is never going to happen anyway? It just isn’t worth it.

Even when you’re in love with someone as cute as Mark.

‘I really like these chapters, you know,’ Mark says after some time. While Gary’s been staring out of the backseat window, reminiscing about his two crushes that he’s never going to tell anyone about, he’s gotten through nearly two chapters dedicated almost entirely to porridge and golden milk. ‘It really makes you think about what you eat, doesn’t it? We used to eat anything back in the day. Can you remember our dressing rooms? They’d be full of fast food and chocolate.’

‘Not Jay’s, though,’ Gary says, glancing at his book in Mark’s hands. ‘He was way ahead of his time, bringing his bloody rabbit food everywhere. I think I mention that in the chapter you’re reading, actually.’

‘That’s nice. I can’t wait to read that.’

Mark continues reading in earnest, taking his time with each page and re-reading bits that he thinks are particularly interesting.

Along with Jay, Mark’s always been the most avid reader in the band, reading artist autobiographies and spiritual books like _The Celestine Prophecy_ and _Way of the Peaceful Warrior_. It’s always made him feel a bit cleverer.

Mark’s about to turn to the next page when a certain paragraph catches his eye. His mouth falls slightly open, and he has to read the paragraph again.

Something in his mind clicks together like the pieces of a puzzle slotting into place. His heart starts racing.

He’s pretty sure he’s just read something very important.

Looking on the verge of a discovery, Mark puts his bookmark between the two pages he’s just been reading and flicks backwards into the book. He spends several minutes eagerly re-reading certain excerpts and highlighting bits that he thinks are interesting with a marker that he found in his coat. After more than five minutes of this, he’s highlighted over eleven different sentences – all sentences that would suggest the same thing: the same dangerous secret, hidden between the lines of a book, unperceivable unless you happened to have spent the past thirty years with the person who wrote them.

He looks at the excerpts he’s just highlighted, then at Gary. Then back at the book. Then back at Gary, still staring blankly out of the window with his hand underneath his chin.

He goes through the sentences he highlighted again, just to make sure. What he highlighted could easily be some throwaway comments that Gary added for artistic effect, but he knows Gary better than that.

Gary Barlow’s never been subtle when it comes to writing about love.

Feeling Mark’s eyes piercing him, Gary draws his eyes from the window and looks to his left. Mark has stopped reading. His eyes look big. _Excited_. He’s pinching his lips together like there’s a waterfall of words about to cascade from his lips.

‘Mark? Why have you stopped reading? I’ve not bored you to death with the chapters about all me diets, have I?’

For fear of his discovery spilling out of his mouth and ruining everything, Mark doesn’t speak. Wordlessly, he opens the book and points at one of the sentences he highlighted.

Gary narrows his eyes and reads the sentence that he thinks Mark is indicating out loud. ‘“Come on lad, get some onion rings?”’

 ‘Huh?’

‘“Come on lad, get me some onion rings,”’ Gary reiterates. ‘Isn’t that the sentence you were pointing at?’

Mark looks at the page he was pointing at. He accidentally highlighted a sentence about onion rings. ‘ _Oops_. Give me a second.’ He takes back his book and starts flicking through it in search of the sentence that he _really_ wanted to show Gaz. Eventually, he finds it on a page that he earmarked.

When he shows Gary the page and points at the sentence he highlighted, he can see Gary turning bright red. He begins reading the sentence out loud while his mate looks on with a look of utter fear in his eyes.

‘“I never feel sexy, not in the way Howard can pull off with his six pack and all that; it’s natural to him. He’s an extremely sexy guy.”’ Having read the sentence out loud, Mark closes his book and places it tenderly on his lap like a bible. ‘ _Aw_. That’s nice. Has Howard read this? He should, you know. I think he’d feel very happy that you think of him like that.’

Mark says all of this with the gentleness of an angel, but to Gary it sounds like he’s being attacked for something he can’t even remember writing. ‘Why . . . exactly are you showing me this, Mark?’

Mark gives Gary an understanding smile, one of those insufferable million-pound smiles that make you go a bit weak in the knees, except Gary can’t feel his knees anymore because Mark has placed his hand on his thigh. ‘It’s all right if you fancy Howard, Gaz. He’s very handsome, you know.’

Mark squeezes Gary’s thigh then, and Gary’s head becomes as bright as a tomato. He doesn’t know what’s worse, Mark insinuating that he loves Howard or Mark’s hand burning a hole into his leg. Probably the latter.

‘I – I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Gary lies. ‘I – I only wrote that cos I – cos I was talking about me diet, I was. Howard’s only an example of someone who looks healthy and everything. I don’t think he’s handsome _at all_.’

‘If you only mentioned Howard as an example, then why are you blushing?’

_Because I like you too, you dope_.

‘It’s this car,’ Gary says, tugging at the collar of his shirt to indicate that he’s hot even though he’s wearing a really thin jacket. It’s not even made of leather. Compared to his mates, who are both wearing thick winter coats because they actually bothered to look at today’s forecast (cloudy with a chance of rain), he looks like he dressed for a summer’s day. ‘It’s like a bloody sauna in here.’

Gary tries to open the window, forgetting for a moment that the car has gone flat and that the electric windows don’t work. When he then opens the passenger door to let in some fresh air, a bunch of dead leaves pick up from the ground and end up blowing right into his face. He sheepishly closes the door and turns to Mark looking like he’s just been rolling in a pile of leaves.

‘I bloody hate this car,’ Gary groans as he starts picking the leaves from his hair.

‘Don’t say that,’ Mark tuts. ‘I’m sure this car is actually quite nice when it’s not busy being stranded on a road. And anyway, it’s not so bad, being stranded when you get to watch Howard fixing the car,’ he adds smoothly. ‘He looks very handsome with his tools out.’

Gary blushes. He has half a mind to deny everything Mark is saying about him, but it’d be pointless. With Mark having highlighted literally every sentence that he wrote about Howard, there’s no point keeping his crush secret anymore. He’s been found out.

‘D’you know what, mate, you’re right,’ Gary sighs. He can feel his heart skipping a beat at that. ‘I used to have a crush on Howard.’

Mark starts beaming. ‘Gary, that’s _amazing_.’

Gary feels a glow emanating from somewhere deep inside of him. It’s been a while since he felt like this. ‘I _used to_ , mind. I don’t really fancy him anymore.’ That last bit isn’t entirely true. He adds, ‘That is, I still like him, but I’ve stopped wanting to do something about it.’

 ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing. I just realised that I didn’t feel like throwing away thirty years of friendship by dropping this big bloody secret on him.’

Gary’s about to add that Howard’s probably not into guys anyway when Mark suddenly raises his right hand to his head. Gary tenses, thinking for a second that Mark is about to kiss him. ‘W-what are you doing?’

‘Stay still, there’s a leaf in your quiff.’

Gary shivers when Mark’s fingers brush his cheek to remove a big leaf from his hair. The skin where Mark’s finger touched him is pleasantly tingly, and for a second he’s actually glad that Mark has found out about his crush on Howard.

At least this way he’ll never suspect that he fancies _him_ too.

Mark briefly looks at the leaf before leaving it affectionately on the free space on the backseat next to him. He’s always been more in touch with nature than most, and something about the forest makes him feel increasingly like he has to be careful with every leaf and blade of grass he meets, like they’re magical tokens that he mustn’t touch.

He knows there’s no such thing as magic, of course, but he can’t shake the feeling that maybe the forest is more alive than most.

‘Sorry about that. What were you saying, Mr Barlow?’

‘I was saying that there’s no chance Howard will ever wanna be with me.’ Gary tries to makes his voice sound dispassionate, but he doesn’t quite manage it. You’d think that he’d be over his crush now, but he’s written enough love songs to know that the memory of a crush always lingers. There’s always that feeling of “what could have been”; the idea that things could have been better if only the stars had aligned a little differently.

Of course, Mark doesn’t see it that way. He maintains that he and Howard would be perfect together. ‘But you’d make _such_ a good couple,’ he says. ‘You’re both really handsome and passionate about music and you obviously get along really well. I think you should tell him.’

Gary scoffs. Mark makes it sound like telling someone you love them is the same thing as telling them you like their shirt. Maybe Mark has had more luck at love because he looks like a bloody fashion model, but Gary’s always been crap when it comes to asking people out.

Not to mention the fact that Howard’s a _guy_. A straight one.

‘I can’t just walk up to Howard and say I’m attracted to him,’ Gary says. He looks down at his hands, still dirty from when he had to pull Mark’s leg from the mud. ‘I don’t want to complicate things. I don’t even know if he’s into _men_.’

‘He might be,’ Mark says optimistically.

‘He’s not. He’s always been with women.’

‘You don’t know that.’

Mark’s right about that, but Gary doesn’t want to trick himself into assuming for even a _second_ that Howard could ever love him. Even if Howard did like men in that way, being in a relationship with him would only ruin the band.

‘I’m still not going to tell him,’ Gary says. ‘I don’t want to complicate things.’

‘It’s not going to be complicated,’ Mark says, ever the optimist. He nods in Howard’s general direction, hidden behind the orange hood of the car. ‘ _I_ could tell him, if you want?’

‘I’d rather you don’t, mate.’

‘Why not?’ Mark genuinely thinks the two of them could be an item. He can literally _feel_ it in the air – or maybe he’s just sensing the same invisible shimmer of magic he did earlier. ‘He could like you back, you know. Maybe he’s thinking about you in that way right now.’

Gary groans in frustration. Why can’t Mark just accept that he doesn’t want to tell Howard that he loves him, ever? ‘I really wish you’d drop it, mate.’

‘Why, though?’

_Because I love you and Howard equally_ , Gary thinks. So equally that he could never profess his feelings to either of them.

But he knows he can’t tell Mark that. The only thing he can say right now is a fraction of the truth; something to make Mark shut up. ‘Do you know what, you’re right. I _should_ tell him. But I can’t because there’s someone else I love too. A second person. I don’t want to hurt their feelings by settling for Howard. That’s what I meant by complicating things.’

Gary admitting that there’s a second person he loves was supposed to stop Mark from asking more questions, but it only gets him more excited. His eyes lit up with curiosity. ‘There’s someone else? Is it someone I know? Does Howard know? I bet they’re pretty. Are they pretty? They must be. This is so exciting, Gaz.’

Mark’s question about whether the “other person” is pretty or not completely catches Gary off guard, and he takes a moment to look at his mate properly for the first time in hours, days.

Mark’s cheeks are flushed from the cold. His grey coat is way too big for him. His hands are red. His messy brown hair is so long that it almost covers his eyes. Dressed for autumn, Mark’s wearing a tight red scarf around his neck. His eyes are as bright as ever and as blue as the sky. His fake snakeskin boots have mud on them. Underneath his coat, Mark’s wearing the type of outfit that leaves oh so much to the imagination: a fluffy black and grey jumper. There’s a moustache on his top lip, and he looks a bit like a Musketeer.

‘Yes, you’re right, the other guy’s not too bad looking,’ Gary says distractedly.

Mark starts grinning from ear to ear. ‘ _Ooh,_ so it’s another “he”? That’s exciting.’

Gary inwardly curses himself for being such a blabbermouth. He managed to keep his crushes secret for several years, and now Mark’s managed to find out about nearly both of them in less than five minutes! He needs to be careful around that lad.

At the same time, confessing that he has feelings for Howard – and another guy – has been like a weight off Gary’s shoulders. He’s only ever told Rob about it, and his dating advice was . . . questionable to say the least. (Not to mention the fact that Rob had a worrying amount of knowledge about what Mark looks for in a partner, down to his ideal date and what he wears to bed. Strange.) Mark knowing about Gary’s secret could be good for him.

‘So you don’t think it’s weird that I have two crushes?’ Gary asks, just in case. He can feel warmth shooting up to his neck and spreading to his face.

‘Why would I?’ Mark shrugs his shoulders. ‘Having crushes is fun. _I’d_ obviously pick Howard, though. I bet the other guy is nowhere near as handsome as him.’

With that, Mark decides his interrogation about Gary’s love life is over. He puts his copy of _A Better Me_ back into the pocket of his coat. ‘Now, shall we have a look at how Howard’s getting on with the car? I hope he’s fixed it by now. I don’t really feel like staying here, do you?’

_Not unless it means I get to spend more time with you_ , Gary thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud.

They get out. On the outside at least, the car still looks the same: brand new and seemingly perfect, with just a couple of leaves stuck underneath the windshield wipers. Howard’s even gone as far as checking all the tyres for damage. Again. But when they try to start the car again, nothing happens. It’s gone completely flat. It’s like they’ve entered a bad episode of _Top Gear._

Mark watches Howard putting his tools back into the toolbox that came with the car. It looks an awful lot like Howard has given up. ‘We’re not stranded, are we?’

‘We are, yeah. There’s no way I’m gonna be able to fix this car on me own unless I have a day to do it, which I don’t.’ Howard closes the hood of the car. He gives the back of his head a good rub, hoping that a last-minute idea will jump up at him. ‘I reckon we’ve got no choice but to spend the night ‘ere.’

Gary’s shares a worried look with Mark. He feels very cold all of a sudden, and he again feels like there’s someone watching him in the corner of his eyes; someone invisible to the naked eye because they’re made of dark, microscopic magic. ‘What did you just say?’

‘I’m sayin’ we’re spendin’ the night ‘ere. We should have enough food from the goodie bags that was handed to us by Suzuki. We can go lookin’ for the nearest village first thing in the morning. I probably won’t be gettin’ any sleep anyway.’

‘You’re not serious,’ Mark says, aghast.

‘I am.’

Gary’s stomach drops as he watches Howard making his way to the back of the car and retrieving several” goodie bags from the backseat, gifts from Suzuki to thank them for agreeing to be a part of their brand new promo campaign. The bags are filled with memorabilia with the Suzuki logo on it, but also branded bags of crisps, chocolate bars and even a bag of popcorn. It all looks terribly unhealthy.

 ‘I can’t eat that,’ Gary says. His feels sick.

‘I know it’s full of crap, but you’re going to have to eat _something_ if you don’t wanna starve to death tonight, mate,’ Howard bristles. He’s on the receiving end of a hurt look when he hands Gary a “Suzuki” granola bar – one of those sickly sweet ones that they mass-produce in factories.

‘I’m saying I _can’t,_ How. I physically can’t.’

Gary he has to get away from the car to stop himself from throwing up. He retreats to the other side of the road, face averted from his bandmates as he tries to catch his breath. Just the thought of having to eat the food in the goodie bags makes him feel sick.

‘You can’t seriously suggest that we spend the night in a car in the middle of nowhere, How,’ Mark whispers. He shoots a worried look at Gary putting his hands on his thighs and bending over as though he’s about to throw up in the bushes. ‘It’s still light. We can go looking for help. We don’t have to stay here.’

Howard looks at the clock on his smartphone screen. ‘It’s goin’ to be dark in less than an hour. Unless there happens to be a village just beyond those trees over there, there’s no way we’ll make it out of the forest on time.’

Mark refuses to believe that. He walks a couple of paces towards the other side of the road and looks over to where the road curves down a hill. He didn’t see any towns on the way here, but there could be a house just behind the farthest tree he can see, right where the road makes a beeline towards the left.

He’s never been the best with estimating distances and things like that, but he reckons the farthest tree he can see is about two hundred metres away, maybe less. He could have a quick look before day turns into night. If he’s lucky, he’ll find a house or a farm: a place where they can take shelter.

Not to mention the fact that Gary and Howard could have some well-needed alone time if he leaves. Gary could tell Howard that he loves him and they’ll all live happily ever after.

He gestures at his mates, asking him to come and join him. From where he’s stood, it’s clear to see that the road is heading downhill, perhaps to a farm. ‘Why don’t I follow the road down the hill and see if I can find someone to help us? If _I_ lived in a forest I’d probably wanna build me house next to a road too. There could be a farm down there, see?’ And he points at the farthest end of the road he can see.

Gary’s the last to join Mark on the other side of the road. He’s gone a bit pale and sweaty, and he has to squint to see what Mark is talking about. ‘What if you get lost?’

‘I won’t. I’ll just follow the road until it begins to go down. I’ll be back before you know it.’

Howard glances at his phone. Around this time of year, the sun goes down before teatime. They haven’t got many minutes of sunlight left, and there aren’t any street lamps next to the road. Once the sun goes down, they’ll be emerged into total darkness.

‘I don’t know about this, Mark. There could be wild animals down there,’ Howard says nervously. He has the unshakeable feeling that there’s _something_ in the air – something strange and dangerous, like an invisible electrical current that’s making the hairs on his arms stand on end. What if there’s something dreadful waiting to pounce on them once it gets dark?

‘It’s not like we’re in the middle of the Amazon forest,’ Mark counters. ‘The worst thing I could come across is a squirrel. I’ll be safe, promise.’

Howard looks at Gary. ‘What’d you think?’

Gary starts at Howard’s sudden attention. He glances at Mark, who . . . seems to be winking at him? Maybe there’s something in his eye. ‘I don’t see how Mark leaving would be an issue. He’s right, there could be a farm down there.’

Howard chews the inside of his cheek as he considers this. Eventually, he agrees with Mark’s idea to have a look down the road. ‘Just promise you’ll be back before the sun goes down. I don’t want you to get killed by an angry fox just cos you think there’s a village somewhere.’ Then he exchanges a look with Gary. ‘I’ll see if there’s any proper food in one of the goodie bags. Maybe I’ve missed an avocado that I can use to bash me head in.’

Howard gives Gary’s arm a remorseful squeeze and heads back to the car to go through the contents of the “Suzuki” goodie bags once more. Gary follows Howard’s arse all the way to the other side of the road until he remembers with a pang that Mark is. right. there.

‘Very subtle, Mr Barlow.’

‘Shut up, Mark,’ Gary bristles, though he can feel his chest blooming with warmth. Telling Mark that he’s in love with Howard is the best thing he’s done in months.

They watch Howard opening the car doors. Then Mark says, ‘Are you all right, by the way? You looked a bit upset earlier.’

Gary groans. ‘Don’t remind me, mate. I _really_ don’t want to stay here and eat all that crap, Mark. I felt sick just looking at it. I can’t ever go back to eating stuff like that – I’d die. Why do you think me autobiography is mostly about food?’

Mark starts rubbing the small of Gary’s back, which is _supposed_ to make Gary feel better but only results in Gary’s stomach being flipped like a pancake. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Barlow, if we do end up having to spend the night together then I’ll eat all the crisps and popcorn so you don’t have to.’

Gary sputters at the mere thought of spending the night with Mark. ‘C-Cheers, Marko. I a-appreciate it.’

‘Aren’t you cold in that jacket, by the way?’ Mark stops rubbing Gary’s back to have a look at his jacket, a fashionable bomber jacket that looks more suitable for summer, not November. ‘You should’ve put your winter coat on, the black one. I like that one.’

‘I know, but I thought I’d look more handsome in this,’ Gary says in jest. The real reason he put this jacket on is because he didn’t bother to check out today’s forecast. He also didn’t think he’d be spending most of the afternoon stood in a forest. ‘Howard might like me more this way.’

Mark smiles at that, and Gary really wishes he hadn’t. Mark has the nicest smile he has seen on any face. Ever.

‘I can see why you like him, you know,’ Mark says, nodding his head at Howard going through the contents of the three goodie bags that were given to them by Suzuki. ‘He’s very handsome, isn’t he? Is he your type, Howard? I never asked.’

Gary shrugs. ‘Not really. That is, I obviously _like_ him, but I wouldn’t say he’s my type. I have a lot of types.’ And his eyes unintentionally flicker towards Mark’s slender body, hiding by his oversized coat, scarf and black and grey jumper. He and Howard couldn’t be more different.

‘Do you think _Howard_ has a type?’

‘I don’t know. He probably likes anyone with big tits.’ _So not me_ , Gary thinks.

‘You could try asking him.’ Mark gives Gary a conspiratorial nudge with his elbow.  ‘Why don’t you and Howard try to get to know each other a little better while I’m gone? That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? You never know, something good might happen if you two are alone together.’ He looks at his watch. ‘Would half an hour work out for you? I think half an hour would be perfect.’

Gary laughs so nervously, so loudly that two birds skirt away from the branches they were perched on. He has to lower his voice to a whisper when he sees Howard looking up from what he’s doing. ‘Is that the real reason you wanna go looking for help, mate? So me and Howard can be alone together?’

‘Yes.’ Mark’s mouth curls into a big grin. ‘I mean, it’s not the _only_ reason, obviously. I do genuinely think there’ll be a farm down there. But you might as well talk to Howard in private while I’m gone.’

‘That’s brilliant, mate, but I don’t think I can get to know Howard better than I already do, to be honest.’ Gary sighs. ‘I’ve only known the lad for thirty years. There’s nothing new to find out.’

‘I meant getting to know him _romantically_. You know, find out about his type and his ideal first date, that sort of thing.’

Gary rolls his eyes. ‘Were you not listening when I said I’ve given up on him ever liking me back or what? I’m telling you, Mark, it’s pointless.’

‘You’ll never know for sure if you don’t try, though.’

Mark has a point there. Although Gary does genuinely believe that him trying to “flirt” with Howard would be an absolute waste of time, having Mark pushing him like this doesn’t even feel that bad. It’s actually nice, having someone backing him and making him believe that a relationship with Howard could work out one day.

Besides – it’s not as if someone will find out about it. For once, they’re not surrounded by eavesdroppers. There are no journalists about, keen to photograph the exact moment Gary Barlow attempts to flirt with one of his bandmates. With the forest being so very different from the places they shot their commercials this morning – a florist’s, an aerobics club and a primary school – it’s as if they’ve stepped into a parallel universe where everything is a little _more_ ; more green, more wonderful, more magical. This could be the _one_ universe in the space-time continuum where it doesn’t matter that Gary’s known Howard for thirty years and that they’re in a band together – a world where, if he’s lucky, Gary could have Howard falling in love with him.

‘You know what, Mark, I . . . I think you’re right.’ Gary rubs the back of his head. In the background, the sky is beginning to fill the forest in a subtle orange glow. A breeze picks up a couple of leaves from the side of the road, dropping them at Gary’s feet. He can still feel that invisible electrical current in the air, charging him up and filling him with nervous excitement. ‘I . . . _should_ try to get to know him better, shouldn’t I? That is, I might as well, right? It’s not as if I’ve got anything to lose out here, anyway.’

Mark grins so widely that Gary’s heart skips a beat. ‘So you’ll do it? You’ll ask Howard about his type while I’m gone?’

‘Maybe. I’ll try. But _please_ stick to the road, mate,’ Gary goes on more seriously. He knows there aren’t many minutes of daylight left, and he really doesn’t like the idea of Mark accidentally venturing into the woods. ‘I don’t want you to get lost, Marko. God knows what’s hidden behind those trees.’

‘ _Oh_ , don’t remind me.’ Mark makes a face as though he’s tasted something foul. ( _Still adorable_ , Gary thinks.) ‘I feel like someone’s been watching us this the entire time, haven’t you?’

‘I . . . have, actually.’ Gary looks over his shoulder, half-expecting someone to be standing there, watching his every move. ‘You don’t think this forest is haunted, do you?’

‘I don’t know. It _is_ a very beautiful place, though, innit?’ Mark says dreamily. ‘Do you ever wonder if what they say about trees is true? About when a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, it doesn’t make a sound? I’ve always wondered about that, haven’t you?’

Gary has to cover up his laugh with a cough. He’s never really shared Mark’s philosophical interest in the world around him. ‘Er. No. I haven’t.’

‘Have you not?

‘No, mate.’

Mark seems for a moment lost in the complexity of his own question before something brown and orange in Gary’s hair makes him forget what he was thinking about.

‘ _Ooh_. Stay still, Gaz. Another leaf has found its way into your hair.’ Mark’s hands graze Gary’s skin as he plucks another leaf out of Gary’s hair, a small one this time. ‘There,’ he says, looking at the leaf in his hand. ‘Now you look perfect.’

Gary wants to say that, _actually_ , Mark’s the perfect one here, with his coat that’s way too big for him and his long hair and his stubble making him look sexier than ever (and those blue bedroom eyes that make him go weak at the knees every time), but he only smiles. Mark must never know that he thinks of him In That Way, not in a million years.

Smiling, Mark wishes Gary good luck with Howard before heading down the hill, alone.

***

The sun is going down. The sky, at times still a pale autumn blue, alternates with warm hues of orange and red. The wind, now bitingly cold, has whipped Gary’s quiff into a complete state of disarray. The shape of Mark’s oversized coat has long disappeared behind the farthest tree Gary can see, an oak with empty branches pointing towards the skies.

With Mark gone to “look for help” down the hill, Gary feels a slight sense of trepidation being alone with Howard. Not that he’s never been alone with Howard before, but it’s the first time he’s been alone with him _since admitting that he likes him_. It makes him feel annoyingly like he’s supposed to do something romantic or flirty, like putting his hand on Howard’s shoulder or smiling at him in a certain way.

What’s worse, it’s as if telling Mark about his feelings have only made him all the more aware of them. (Like when you hear a song on the radio for the first time and you suddenly hear it _everywhere_.)

Previously, Gary could easily get through a day without ever thinking of Howard like a lover. Spending a day with Howard was easy and never complicated. He’d not even feel nervous really; he’d just feel happy, all the time.

However. Everything has changed now. Gary’s heart is beating like mad just _looking_ at Howard. His legs have turned into jelly. His hands shake so badly that he has to dig them inside the pockets of his thin bomber jacket, afraid that Howard will see. His mouth feels dry. He can’t stop looking at Howard’s arse and the way his thick brown coat hugs his body all over. He has to stop himself when he tries imagining what it’d be like to kiss Howard for the first time. Would he have to stand on tiptoes or would his mouth find Howard’s lips naturally?

Gary tries not to let his bad thoughts distract him. He approaches the car slowly. He takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair once, just in case. He doesn’t want to try chatting Howard up with a leaf from an oak stuck in his quiff.

Unfortunately, being near your crush, alone, makes talking quite difficult.

‘Anyluckwiththosegoodiebagsfromsuzukihow?’

Howard looks up from his goodie bag and gives his mate a bewildered look. ‘What?’

Gary flushes. _Breathe_ , he tells himself. ‘I meant, are you having any look with those goodie bags?’ _Breathe_. _Don’t make a fool of yourself._

‘Have a look for yourself _,_ ’ Howard says, reaching for a large paper bag on the backseat. ‘There’s enough crap to last us a bloody week.’

Howard hands Gary one of the “Suzuki” goodie bags, filled to the brim with mugs, pens, stationery, fridge magnets, a T-shirt, a cushion, an umbrella, a red and white dressing gown, napkins, driving gloves, an alarm clock, binoculars, an unopened bottle of water, slippers, a fondue set and a small bottle of Eau de Cologne – all with the red company logo on it.

It takes Gary just one look inside his bag to see that there definitely isn’t any food in it; just everyday items they haven’t really got any use for. The only remotely useful item in the bag is the unopened bottle of water, though they probably won’t be able to refill it. He supposes the pillow and the binoculars could come in handy, but the rest is useless. ‘What about the food? Haven’t we got any?’

‘Just what’s on the hood of the car,’ Howard says. He points at the “food” that he has laid out on the hood of the car: a bag of Suzuki crisps, Suzuki chocolate bars, a Suzuki cookie tin, Suzuki pasta sauce, Suzuki baking powder, several Suzuki granola bar and even a bag of Suzuki popcorn.

Seeing the chocolate bars and the crisps still makes Gary feel sick, but it _is_ rather funny seeing a jar of pasta sauce with the Suzuki logo on the lid.

Howard can see Gary looking at it. ‘At least we won’t forget what car we’re drivin’, right? Do you think it’s a Suzuki we was given this morning? I can’t remember, can you?’

‘I think it _is_ a Suzuki, mate, but you know what – it could also be a Suzuki,’ Gary quips, falling into step with Howard’s humour without missing a beat. ‘I wish there was a way we could tell.’

‘Well, I think you’re wrong, Gaz. I think we’re drivin’ a Suzuki.’

Gary snorts. He holds up a thick pack of writing paper that has the Suzuki logo superimposed in the right-hand corner. ‘I suppose we could always write our wills if we never get out of here. If I die tonight I’m going to leave you in charge of me _Star Wars_ memorabilia, How, just so you know. And look – we can frame a photo of our adventures afterwards,’ he adds, holding up a red Suzuki picture frame from the bag.

‘I never understood companies giving us freebies,’ Howard scoffs, shaking his head at the picture frame. ‘It always makes me feel crap cos there’s people who genuinely can’t afford this stuff. Same with fans throwing bloody teddy bears on stage – I never knew what to fucking do with them.’

Gary grins. He jests, ‘At least we got some use out of the bras they threw at us, eh?’

Howard laughs out loud at that. Hearing it fills Gary with a pleasant twinge of something untouchable, like homesickness or longing or both, right in his chest. It makes Gary avert his gaze, afraid that Howard will see him blushing even though the light is fast beginning to fade. He’s always loved Howard’s laugh.

When the laughter dies down, Howard sobers up so he can take stock of the situation. He looks at the dead car, then at Gary staring at his feet, a gorgeous pink flush spreading across his cheeks.

The forest is beautiful, but it’s becoming more and more difficult to see. The temperature has gone down considerably. The breeze that keeps picking up leaves from the ground has become cold, biting the parts of Howard’s body that aren’t covered by clothes, like his hands. He doesn’t want to think about how exposed they’ll be at midnight, when the only thing they have to keep them warm is the car, dead and lifeless. 

‘I really hope you’re not mad at me for crashing the car, Gaz.’ Howard shoots a guilty look at the pothole he hit, visible even in the half-dark. ‘I feel fucking crap that we’re ‘ere. I should have listened to you when you and Mark told me to take it easy.’

A shiver creeps up Gary’s body. He zips up his jacket as high as he can and rubs his arms up and down to keep warm. His toes are beginning to feel quite frozen and painful. He meets Howard’s eye, and he instantly wishes he hadn’t: his heart does a weird sort of acrobatic backflip.

‘You’re the best driver I know, How. If a car goes flat with you behind the wheel then it’s probably because of the car, mate. This is not your fault.’

‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ says Howard. ‘I _really_ hope it’s not a bigger issue.’

‘Me too.’ Gary swallows as he watches Howard running his hand across the hood of the car, making him wish for a moment that he’s an orange Suzuki Vitara. ‘Mind you, we’ve never had much luck with cars, have we? It only took us a couple of months before we broke down in our _Do What You Like_ gear.’

Howard smiles fondly at the memory. He can still remember that day: all five of them, suddenly stranded on a road in black fetish gear. ‘Did we hitchhike that day? I can’t remember.’

‘I think we did, yeah,’ Gary says. One by one, he can see flashes of that day taking shape like blots of ink on wet paper: the car breaking down; having to get out in their fetish gear; spending over half an hour with their thumbs stuck in the air in the hopes of hitching a lift; Mark having to sit on Howard’s lap on the backseat ( _lucky bastard_ , Gary thinks); Jason banging his head against the car ceiling because he was tall even then; arriving an hour late at the concert because they’d hit a traffic jam.

‘Yeah, we did. The driver must have died laughing when he finally dropped us off.’

Howard remembers. He gives Gary a fond look: one of those _looks_ that you only ever share with people you’ve spent a lifetime of adventures with. He can’t believe they’re still having wonderful, scary, memorable adventures even now, in their thirtieth year of being together. Being stranded in a forest isn’t so bad when it’s just another adventure he can share with his two favourite people in the world.

‘How are you, by the way?’ Howard asks. ‘You looked like you was about to throw up all over your shoes earlier.’

‘It’s this food,’ Gary explains, looking at the food Howard’s laid out on the hood of the car. His nose has become runny, and he has to rub it with the back of his hand. His feet are beginning to feel like cold, frozen cardboard. ‘I gain a stone just looking at it. I wish I could trade bodies with you sometimes, How – at least _you_ can still go to Nando’s without having to worry about your bloody weight.’

(Gary figures it’s not really flirting when it’s a universally accepted fact that Howard’s body looks bloody amazing.)

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Howard disagrees. ‘The days of me having a six-pack are _long_ gone. I’m just grateful that I’m still able to dance without getting a bloody hernia. Imagine if we stopped dancing on tour? We’d turn into fucking Boyzone.’

Gary flushes when his eyes accidentally flick towards Howard’s tummy. It’s been a while since he saw Howard shirtless, but he bets Howard still looks gorgeous underneath all that.

Not that Gary only fancies Howard because of his looks, of course. He fancies Howard because they share the same kind of humour. They both have an obsessive love for the production side of music. Howard is the only member in the band who’ll always laugh at his jokes, no matter how bad. And he’s a bit quiet, but he’s a terribly good listener, Howard is. He’s the person in the band Gary can always depend on if he needs someone to talk to, more so than Mark.

It does _help_ that Howard is incredibly sexy, though. But he’s never going to tell him that.

‘Let’s just hope we get out of this forest before we can’t perform at all anymore,’ Gary says, conveniently ignoring the six-pack comment.

For a lack of something to do, Gary starts putting all the food that Howard laid out on the hood of the car in a separate paper bag. He shivers when his eyes fall on a bag of over-salted processed crisps, and Howard shoots him a worried look.

‘You okay, Gaz?’

‘Yeah, I am, thanks.’

Howard isn’t so sure about that. ‘ _Are_ you? Cos your hands are bright red.’

Gary looks at his hands. Howard’s not wrong. He cups his hands over his mouth and blows hot hair into them. He rubs them together as quickly as he can in the hopes of getting warm.

Mark was right when he said he should have put his other coat on, he’s bloody freezing. His feet are so frozen that they hurt. ‘You don’t happen to have driving gloves with you, do you, How? I’d hate to lose the feeling in me hands, they’re way too important for me day job . . .’

Although Gary manages to make light of the situation, he is genuinely quite cold. His nose and cheeks are red. An unflattering trail of snot is running down his nose, and Gary has to wipe it clean with the back of his hand. Despite his best efforts to stay warm by rubbing his hands together and bouncing on the spot, Howard can tell that his legs are trembling.

It’s another potential problem: if Mark doesn’t find a village soon, they’ll have to spend the night in a car without a working heater. They could freeze to death. If only he knew how to make a campfire.

‘Let me see if I can find you a blanket,’ Howard says, opening the car boot even though he’s been through every single inch of the car already. ‘I’m not ‘avin’ you turn into a block of ice cos of me.’

With the sunlight becoming increasingly faint, it’s getting quite hard to see anything. The lights in the car have gone off, and Howard has to use the torch on his smartphone to help him navigate through the car boot. There isn’t much there: just the toolbox Howard found earlier and a bunch of papers proving that Howard is the owner of the car.

Then Howard’s hands touch something soft: a blanket. He lets out a contented laugh. ‘Ha! I knew we must have a blanket somewhere. Mind you, it looks like shite . . .’

Howard emerges from the car boot holding a white blanket covered from top to bottom in a dozen blown-up versions of the Suzuki logo, a stylish red S.

Howard tries handing Gary the blanket, but Gary’s hands have become so numb that he struggles putting it around his shoulders. He very nearly drops it, and Howard has to take the blanket from him before it falls on the blubbery, leaf-covered forest ground and becomes forever useless. He makes a circling motion with his fingers. ‘Allow me?’

Gary barely manages to turn around, his body is so stiff. He lets out a contented sigh when he feels the warm, woolly blanket being draped over his back and shoulders. He shivers when he feels two hands squeezing his shoulders, Howard’s. The red flush on his nose has spread to the rest of his face, making him look like he has a fever.

Worried, Howard puts his palm against Gary’s forehead, gauging his temperature. ‘Jeez, Gaz, you’re burning up. Are you sure you don’t have a fever?’

This only makes Gary turn redder. He averts his gaze to the ground and pulls his blanket closer around his body, hopping on the spot for warmth. He wishes he could go back to the moment in time when Howard was squeezing his shoulders. ‘I-It’s nothing to worry about,’ he stammers. ‘I-It’s probably just a cold.’

‘You don’t _get_ colds, though, do you?’ Howard points out. Gary is the healthiest person he knows.

‘It’s n-nothing. I should just h-have put on me winter coat, is all.’

Even though he has a thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Gary still feels like he’s booked a one-way trip to Antarctica. His entire body is shivering. His knees are trembling.

Seeing this, Howard starts slowly rubbing Gary’s arms up and down in the hopes of warming his mate up. An hour ago having Howard touching him would have meant nothing really, but that was before Gary told Mark he fancies him.

Now, everything Howard does makes him feel dizzy.

‘Tell me if this helps, Gaz?’

Gary feels a warm, sunshiny glow in the core of his chest. It’s as if the sun itself is shining down on it, and he hates himself for it. A blissful smile is curling up the corners of his mouth. He wants to say _yes, this helps, please keep going_ , but he doesn’t want to admit how much he loves having Howard’s hands on him.

He reluctantly shakes his head. ‘I still f-feel like I’m freezing,’ he lies even though he feels hot and cold all over. ‘S-sorry.’

Howard immediately stops what he was doing and awkwardly shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat. If there had been just _one_ ray of sunshine lighting up the side of the road at the right moment, Gary would have seen a flicker of disappointment flicker across Howard’s face.

‘Is there anything else I can do?’ Howard asks. He sounds distracted. _Different_. ‘I hate seeing you like this.’

‘I think the only thing that’s going to get me warm now is a good cup of Yorkshire tea, to be honest,’ Gary mumbles. He wraps his blanket closer around his body and casts a look at the hill Mark went down. ‘Do you reckon Mark’s found someone by now?’

Howard clears his throat, and he sounds like his usual self again. ‘If he has, he’s probably talkin’ their bloody ears off, knowin’ him.’

‘So you think there’s a chance there’s a village down there, then?’

‘Dunno. I haven’t got a clue where we are. I only drove in ‘ere cos I liked the _look_ of it, to be honest. I guess I’m never doing that again – forests are fucking shite places to get stranded in. I’m absolutely crap without GPS.’

Howard says that he doesn’t have a clue where they are, but Gary’s not sure if that’s quite true. Before they headed into the forest, they drove past a road sign with the names a village on it – a sign that pointed towards the forest and down the hill. It would mean that there _is_ a town down the road somewhere.

Gary racks his brain trying to remember the name of the village. He has the vague idea that he’s been there before – for a gig perhaps? Or a meet and greet with fans? Or perhaps – and he turns to his mate then – something to do with Howard? He does vaguely remember that Howard once had a girlfriend who lived in a forest. If she still lives here now, she could offer them shelter for the night.

‘You say that you’ve never been here before, but didn’t one of your ex-girlfriends live around here, How? I remember you once sayin’ you had a girl who lived on a farm.’

Howard gives Gary a clueless look. ‘You must know my girlfriends better than I do, mate, cos I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

Gary blushes. _Great_ , he thinks, _now Howard will think that I’m keeping track of his exes. Brilliant._ ‘You do, though,’ Gary says, and he finds himself picturing the girl in question: brown hair, a pear-shaped body and quite an expensive taste in equestrian equipment. He’s right: Howard _did_ have a girlfriend who lived here. ‘One of your girlfriends used to live around here, I’m sure of it.’

‘Which one?’

Gary has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. _Which one_ , he says, like he’s had hundreds. ‘The one who liked horses.’

Howard’s eyes spark with the memory. ‘You’re right, yeah. Louise, wasn’t it?’

 ‘Don’t look at me, How – it was _your_ girlfriend, not mine.’

‘Yeah, I remember now,’ Howard says. He crosses his arms and leans comfortably against the car. He takes a moment to reminisce about his ex: a bloody rich horse enthusiast whom he’d met at one of those private business parties in London, where the band had been asked to perform two or three songs for quite a large fee. The couple didn’t last long. ‘Louise . . . Torday, I think her name was. Her arse looked fucking amazing in riding breeches.’

‘She must be so happy that that’s the only thing you remember about her.’

‘She wasn’t the only person I fancied at the time,’ Howard shrugs, with an infinitesimal glance at Gary. ‘You’re right, though, she did live somewhere round ‘ere. I must have been on this road a dozen times to visit her. I couldn’t even remember.’

‘That means there’s a village,’ Gary says hopefully. He glances at the road down the hill; the same road he saw Mark disappearing down ten minutes ago. ‘We could find a way home.’

‘Hopefully. I hope he doesn’t bump into Louise, though. That’s the last time I’m breakin’ up with someone via fax. She kept asking me if I would go horse-ridin’ with her. Imagine me, sat on a horse? Never in my _life_.’ And Howard gives an exaggerated shake of his body. ‘I’m glad we only lasted two weeks.’

Gary’s interest is piqued. This is the first time in years that Howard has mentioned his love life. Has Howard just given him the perfect opportunity to get to know him romantically?

‘You never mention your love life much, How.’ Gary unconsciously pulls his blanket closer around his shoulders, protecting himself from what he’s about to learn. He’s not sure how he’d feel if he found out that Howard has been recently been dating. ‘You haven’t been seeing anyone lately, have you?’

‘I haven’t really bothered lately, to be honest.’

‘Why not?’

‘I guess I’m just scared. I’m at that age when if you still haven’t settled down with someone you’re doomed for _life_. I’m shit at relationships anyway,’ Howard adds with a shrug. ‘I’m always scared that I don’t talk enough or that I’m crap in bed or something. It’s just not worth it.’

Gary stares at his shoes, covered in mud and dirt and leaves, wishing that he could tell Howard that he’s always been good enough for him and that he’d never think he’s crap in bed. Cos he’s _Howard Donald_ , for Christ’s sake. The man looks like a bloody Greek sculpture. He’s funny and thoughtful and handsome and yes, he’s a bit quiet, and he doesn’t talk much during interviews, but he’ll always laugh at Gary’s crap jokes and that’s the only thing Gary has ever needed. In his eyes, Howard is perfect.

Does it hurt that Howard will never be his? Sure. Howard will never look at him as a lover. Howard will never want to kiss him. Howard will always “just” be his best mate. They’ll go through this tour and the next without ever sharing a single kiss. They’ll retire one day and never have held hands, ever. One day, Gary will die and take his secret to the grave with him.

And he’s okay with that really. He doesn’t want to ruin a perfectly perfect friendship. What he and Howard (and Mark) have been given is something that happens only once every hundred years. What they share is something that simply cannot be described. Why ruin that by telling Howard that he fancies him?

It won’t stop Gary from telling Howard how handsome he is, though.

‘You’re being too hard on yourself, you are, Howard,’ Gary says. ‘Look at you. Anyone would be bloody _thrilled_ to be with you.’

Howard laughs. ‘Are you sure you’re not going down with a cold, Gaz? You never pay me this many compliments.’

‘That’s not true – I complimented your voice on _Spin_ the other day.’

‘Only cos you autotuned it to death!’

The lads share a Look, and they absolutely lose it. Laughter ripples up Gary’s body and hits him so hard that he has to bend over double. A stranger would never understand this, but Howard joking about his vocals is the funniest thing he’s heard all day.

Gary’s been laughing so hard that his blanket has shifted off his back. Howard’s hands touch his shoulder as he helps putting the white blanket back in place, and for a moment Howard looks a bit distracted, like he’s on the verge of a discovery that previously eluded him. He might as well have a big lightbulb appearing over his head.

Howard’s never felt the need to tell Gary how he truly feels, but the past few hours have changed everything. Ever since his hands touched Gary’s arms, he’s found himself thinking about Gary in a way that he hasn’t for years; decades. He only has to _look_ at Gaz and his heart gives out. He doesn’t know why. He hasn’t actively fancied Gary for ages. It always felt crap, fancying one of your bandmates, and yet something about today has made all his hidden feelings crashing back to him again.

If he were here, Jason would probably say the car breaking down was some sort of divine intervention.

‘Gaz, I – I just wanted to say . . .’

Gary’s heart lifts a little looking at Howard’s lips saying the words. Howard sounds like he’s about to confess something. He feels anticipation bubbling in his stomach, confidently hopeful that Howard is about to say that he loves him too. ‘ _Yes_ , How?’

‘I just wanted to say . . .’ Howard looks Gary in the eye then, and the words escape him. He flushes and shoves his hands into the pockets of his big brown coat. _Not worth it_ , he thinks. ‘It’s going to be dark soon. I reckon you should get back into the car while I wait on the side of the road for Mark to come back. You’ll be a bit warmer in there.’

Gary’s lips form a disappointed “oh”, but no sound comes out. He was so convinced that Howard was going to say something important then. He wordlessly wraps his blanket around his body and heads into the car, oblivious to Howard sighing in regret behind him.

***

Mark’s always known that Gary was never meant for him. It was always going to be Howard, and he’s fine with that really. Some things just aren’t meant to be. Gary deserves love more than anyone he knows, and they’d make a shit couple anyway, him and Gaz. He does like Gaz, and he’ll probably secretly fancy him forever, but their energies never quite matched. Gary’s confident; Mark’s sensitive and insecure. Gary’s the romantic writer of a million love songs; Mark’s the guy in the band who writes the saddest songs in the world because he has a cupboard filled with skeletons. Gary’s probably never been unfaithful before, but Mark? Mark’s a dreadful lover. There’s a reason why Gary’s love songs are so good.

So when Gary confessed that he likes Howard romantically, Mark couldn’t be happier. He’s _thrilled_. Just look at those two, they’re practically made for each other! The car breaking down and getting stranded in a forest has actually been a godsend.

Hopefully, offering to look for help down the hill has given Gary a chance to tell Howard how he feels. If not, Mark has plenty of other ideas up his sleeve, like letting Gary and Howard sing a duet on tour or conveniently leaving the studio when he can tell things are heating up. Or better – arranging a date! He’d happily play a matchmaker if he has to.

Judging by his watch, Mark’s been walking down the hill for the past twenty minutes. Having woken early and eaten only the snacks provided at the video shoot, Mark is beginning to feel quite hungry and tired. A stitch is blooming in his sides. His legs are so cold and tired that he can’t feel them anymore. He _has_ to head back.

However. He doesn’t want to walk into his bandmates right when Gary is about to profess his love to How. That’d be awful. Or worse, what if there’s a house _right behind that tree over there_ and he misses it because he couldn’t deal with a silly stitch in his sides? The idea gives him an anxious boost, and he starts walking a little faster.

It’s almost dark. The remaining sunlight filters pathetically through the trees. Mark’s surroundings have hardly changed. He can still see an intimidating ocean of trees on both sides of the road. The road itself is unchanged: still endless and filled with potholes. The only car he’s seen for the past hour is their own orange Suzuki. There are no lampposts. He’s on his own.

It turns dark before he knows it.

No longer able to see the car when he looks over his shoulder, a dread begins to coil in Mark’s stomach like a snake. In the dark, every sound rings louder in his ears than it did during daylight. Every snap of a branch sends shivers down his spine, and the sound of his own footsteps becomes as loud as thunder, forcing him to slow down. Even his own breathing sounds laboured.

He still hasn’t been able to shift the fear that he’s not alone in the woods. He knows that it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, but every now and then he thinks he can see a shadow shifting in the dark. It could be an animal. Or a person. Or worse, a bodiless entity; a mere sliver of dark energy, invisible to the naked eye, snaking its way through the trees.

He looks at his phone again. He’s been gone for half an hour, which means that he’ll have been gone for more than an hour by the time he returns to the car. Mark being late is not entirely uncommon (it’s a miracle, really, that Take That concerts always start precisely on time), but an hour would be pushing it. He _has_ to head back.

He starts counting his steps. If he hasn’t come across a farm or a house by the time he makes his tenth step, he’ll turn around and head back to the car. There’s no point staying here if there’s no one around to help him.

Mark has counted his ninth and penultimate step when the sound of a branch snapping to makes him start. Stopping to look at his feet, he can see that he definitely hasn’t stepped on a branch.

Meaning, he’s not alone.

‘Hello?’

Mark holds his breath to listen to his surroundings. He thinks he can hear the sound of . . . breathing? Perhaps it’s just a squirrel with breathing issues.

He _really_ hopes it’s just a squirrel.

He turns his head into the direction of the sound. His eyes dart all over the place until he spots the dark silhouette of a large animal stood between two trees in the dark.

He gasps. His hand shoots towards his mouth.

_It’s a dog!_

Or is it? It could also be a particularly small bear.

He takes a step closer to make sure. He squints. Stepping farther away from the road and deeper into the forest, he can see that he’s actually being watched by a sizable German Shepherd. In other words, a shepherd’s dog. A shepherd’s dog could mean there’s a farm nearby. ( _And horses_ , he thinks to himself. _And a duck pond._ )

‘Hello. Where’ve _you_ come from?’ Forgetting for a moment that he’s in the middle of a forest in the dark and that his mates are half an hour away on foot, deprived of their phones, Mark takes another step towards the dog. He bends over to take a better look at it. He’s pretty sure he can see a collar around the dog’s neck. ‘You don’t happen to live in a house around here, do ya? Me and me mates are a bit lost, you know, and I’m looking for someone to come and help us out.’

Despite Mark’s best efforts to sound friendly and nice, the dog barks once; a warning bark. She’s doesn’t know this guy, and he smells a bit too much of other dogs for her liking.

She stands up tall and bends slightly forward, her tail high in the air. Her nose is wrinkled and the corners of her mouth are showing, ready to pounce if Mark comes too close. She’s lived in this forest long enough to know that nothing is as it seems.

Recognising the dog’s discomfort, Mark takes a careful step back. If this dog does indeed live on a local farm, she could be their only way of getting home. She could lead them straight out of the forest.

But how?

He thinks on his feet. He has a vague memory of feeding his own dogs some heart-shaped treats the other day. He pats the pockets of his coat. ‘Wait a minute. I’m sure I’ve got some dog treats with me _somewhere_. . .’

Unimpressed, the dog watches on as Mark digs his hands into his pockets. Miraculously, he manages to find a large dog treat next to his copy of _A Better Me._ He holds it out for the German Shepherd to see. ‘It’s a dog treat, see? My dogs are very fond of this one, you know. How about I give you this and you show me where you live?’

The dog remains in the same position – tail up high, all paws firmly on the ground –, but Mark can tell by her big eyes that he’s piqued her curiosity.

Seeing an opportunity, Mark edges closer towards the dog and throws the treat on the ground. He has now entered the forest fully, where tarmac turns into mud and dead leaves crunch underneath his feet. An invisible force floods the forest like a low fog, bewitching everything in its path.

The dog lowers her guard and curiously sniffs the heart-shaped food.

Mark beams as the dog starts chewing the treat with its big teeth. His chest blooms with the feeling of success. _This is actually working!_

‘Nice, isn’t it, Doggie? Is it okay if I call you that? I can’t see your name on your collar, I’m afraid . . .’ (The dog grunts. She’s been called worse.) ‘And I know I say that, about how the treat tastes nice and all that, but I obviously don’t really know that, do I? I’ve never eaten a dog treat before . . . Anyway, I was wondering if you could take me to your house?’

The dog looks up. She grunts quizzically. _Explain_.

‘Well – as I said before, me and my mates are a bit lost and we need someone to give us shelter because we don’t really fancy staying in the car.’

The dog doesn’t respond. Mark opens his mouth to rephrase that he needs to find another human, but the words never come. The dog finishes its treat, gives Mark one last look and bolts into the forest.

Mark follows it without thinking.

***

Bad mistake. Mark follows the dog without a clue where he’ll end up. It’s so dark that he can’t see anything. The moss absorbs every sound. He can’t keep up. The dog is far too quick.

Thin twigs whip against his face at every turn. He almost trips over an ancient tree stump. Pain shoots through his sides. He thinks for a moment that he can see a wooden cabin in the distance, only for it to disappear again, like magic.

He sees stars in his eyes. He quickly loses his bearings. The only thing that still stands out in the dark is the dog, zigzagging so quickly that Mark loses sight of her.

She’s gone. 

A lack of air forces Mark to stop. He bends over double, both hands placed on his sides to press away the pain. Blood rushes to his head when he tries to look up. He looks around him to see if he can spot the dog anywhere, but the only thing he can see is trees: big trees on his left, big trees on his right, big trees in front of him and many more behind him. They all look identical.

What’s worse, the comforting tarmac that he felt underneath his feet has been replaced by something softer, far more dangerous. Instead of tarmac, he feels the grassy surface of the forest ground below, brown leaves everywhere. He can’t see the road from here.

He’s lost. Utterly. He wouldn’t even know which way to go even if he tried. Literally every angle of the forest looks the same, and the ground isn’t blubbery enough to leave footprints. The dog has lead him on a wild goose chase into the heart of the forest, stranding him completely.

Panic grips Mark like an icy hand around his throat. His breath starts coming in short, sharp gasps. His body bends over and convolves as though it’s about to empty itself, but nothing comes out. The only thing that leaves his mouth is a series of loud coughs.

If what he thinks about forests is true, about falling trees not making a sound when there’s no one around to hear it, no one will hear him. No one will come for him. He’s all alone – so very alone apart from that dark shape in the shadows.

Mark assumed he must be imagining it first, but there’s definitely something watching him. _There_ , in between two trees: a dark four-legged _shape_ like that of a German Shepherd. _His_ German Shepherd, the one that led him here.

Except, Mark realises with a pang, German Shepherds aren’t are nowhere near as big as this. This . . . creature, whatever it is, is nearly as tall as him. Mark can just about make out four spindly legs and the vague outline of a dog-like head. Everything else blends in with the shadows, like the creature itself is made out of the darkest parts of the universe; the sort of creature that hid underneath your bed when you were young, ready to pull you into the shadows. 

Whatever it is, it’s not the type of creature you want to waste your dog treats on.

Mark takes a cautious step backwards. And another. He feels something drip on his forehead, and he automatically wipes it off. _Rain._

Another step backwards. An unfamiliar panic unfurls in the pit of his tummy when he realises that the shape seems is following his every move. It’s uncanny: every time Mark takes a step backwards, the creature takes another step forward. Trying to run away from it would be pointless; he’d only get eaten to death, or worse. He’s going to need another way to escape it. _His_ way.

 ‘H-Hello?’ Mark squeaks. His legs are trembling; properly shaking, like they’re made of nothing but jelly. He squeezes his frozen hands into fists, trying to stop them from shaking _._ ‘D-Doggie, is that you? I g-gave you that nice treat, remember’

The creature makes a gurgling noise in the back of its throat, such a dreadful sound that Mark jumps backwards. Definitely not a dog, then.

Mark racks his brain trying to come up with an escape plan. He thinks about what he would do if he were here with his dogs. Only recently, his dog Arnold chased a deer they met during a morning walk; an animal about the same size as the dark shape that is watching him now. It was wonderful. Mark felt like he and Arnold were one with the landscape then; not just two visitors, but two living inhabitants, navigating their way through the world. Arnold loved that walk, and so did Mark. You can’t get more in touch with nature than that.

However. The creature that is watching Mark now is not a deer. This is not like hanging up bird feeders to become a bigger, more important part of nature. This is not like taking a photo of a falling leaf because it reminds you of ticker tape at the end of a concert, about to be caught by an outstretched hand.

This is scary. Really, really scary.

Especially when you suddenly realise you’re being watched by not one shape, but two. Three. Four. Five shadowy dog-like shapes have appeared all around him. It’s knocked the air right out of his lungs.

Mark has counted another sixth creature when he feels a nameless _dread_ settling in his tummy. It’s a feeling of fear, of not knowing if he’s ever going to make it out of the forest alive, but it’s also something else. It’s a feeling of hankering. Longing. Love. For when a seventh shadow suddenly appears behind the spiny curves of a tree, Mark finds himself wishing his bandmates were here.

Why? So they can scare off the creatures in the dark? So they can save him?

No. He wants his mates to give him a _hug_. 

It’s a weird thing to wish for in a forest, a hug, but he’s never wanted to feel Howard and Gary’s arms around him more. He wants to be held and protected and _loved_ , just as Gary loves Howard.

It’s such an intrusive thought that at first his brain doesn’t notice it.

Stepping backwards again, Mark can feel his hand grazing a tree. The bark is wet, and he unconsciously wipes his hands on his coat, touching his pocket where he keeps his phone.

That’s when an idea hits him.

Still being watched by the strange shadowy creatures, Mark just about manages to get out his phone without dropping it. He knows he can’t phone anyone – he still doesn’t have a signal – but there’s something else he can try. Something very, very scary.

He shivers just thinking about it.

‘I _really_ hope you’re just very big squirrels.’ Mark takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut and turns on the flashlight on his phone. He braces himself for impact.

Nothing happens. There’s not a single sound; not even a branch snapping or seven pairs of hooves or paws or feet skittering away.

He opens one eye open, and his mouth falls open.

There’s nothing there. Nothing. Using his flashlight, the only thing he can see are branches, bushes, the trees towering above him and the moss at his feet. The air glitters with drizzly rain. The creatures, if they were ever really there, have become one with the shadows. He’s been alone this entire time.

Alone . . . and lost.

Oddly disappointed to be alone after all, Mark turns off his flashlight. He sighs; the creatures turned out to be just trees. It was only his brain playing tricks on him. For all he knows, the dog that he followed into the forest was never even there; just something his mind made up to stop himself from feeling alone.

He has to be careful from now on.

***

In a different part of the forest, Gary has been sat in the car for ten minutes when he hears knocking on the window. Howard.

Gary gets out of the car, still blanket-clad, to see his mate staring at the pothole-filled road with his arms crossed. He looks sombre; his brow is knitted and there are a couple of leaves stuck in his curly hair. There are wet patches on his shoulders; it’s started raining. ‘It’s been fifty minutes since Mark left,’ he says simply.

Gary’s chest becomes heavy with worry and guilt. He’s never been one to believe in spiritual crap like Mark and Jay, but he’s always thought that if something ever were to happen to one of his bandmates, past and present, he’d _feel_ it, like an invisible thread being suddenly cut by a knife. And right now, the thread he shares with Mark has become a mere sliver; a faint untouchable connection, fading out. Something’s wrong.

‘Mark would never deliberately be gone for this long unless he met someone,’ Gary says. There’s a worried tilt at the end of his voice. ‘Why hasn’t he come back yet?’

Howard doesn’t speak. He keeps staring at the road, hoping that Mark will suddenly show up if he stares hard enough. Like Gary, he has a connection with Mark: something unspoken and invisible to the naked eye that only _he_ can feel. Somewhere inside of him, he can feel that something that has happened to Mark. He can _tell_.

‘Howard. Why has Mark not come back yet?’

‘The only thing I know for sure is that there’s not a chance in _hell_ that Mark has met someone,’ Howard says. He tries not to sound worried, but he doesn’t quite manage it; his lower lip is trembling, and his lisp sounds ever more pronounced. ‘The road’s bloody deserted and the nearest village is miles away. The only likely explanation is that Mark has gone and left the bloody road.’

A shiver runs down Gary’s spine. Rain is beginning to come down in a constant drizzle, covering his blanket with a thin layer of miniscule raindrops. He thinks about how excited Mark looked before he left, promising Gary a moment alone with his crush. If something happened to Mark, he’ll be partly to blame. ‘But what about your ex?  Didn’t she live somewhere around her?’

‘Dunno. Her village could be miles away from here.’

‘Do you think we should look for him, then?’  

‘Maybe.’ Howard chews the inside of his cheek. He’s still staring at the road. He’s mulling something over.

‘What do you mean, _maybe_? Are we going to looking for Mark or not?’

This makes Howard change his mind. ‘If anyone should look for Mark, it’s me, not you,’ he retorts with sudden determination.

It’s like a light being switched on. Howard’s entire posture changes. He heads to the back of the car and opens the boot to gather things he thinks he may need on his journey: a bag of crisps, several granola bars, a tiny umbrella, napkins, and the unopened bottle of water with the Suzuki logo on it.

Gary has no idea what is going on. ‘How? What are you doing?’

‘Like I said – I’m going to see if I can find Mark on my own.’

‘But what about _me_?’ Gary can hear the whine in his voice, but he can’t help it. He’s never been left alone in a forest before. ‘What am _I_ supposed to do?’

‘You’re going to stay in the car in case Mark comes back after all,’ Howard says. ‘Besides, you look like a bloody _icicle_. You’ll only slow me down. No offence.’

Gary suddenly feels cold all over, and it’s not because of the rain. The way Howard is taking food from the Suzuki goodie bags, looking suddenly determined and distant – it’s as if Howard’s planning to disappear into the forest forever. ‘Why do you say that as if you might not come back at all?’

Howard’s eyes flicker with something Gary has only seen once, years ago, on a strange afternoon in August: fear. It’s the same look Howard had in his eyes after they had told the world that Jason wasn’t going to be a part of Take That anymore.

It’s the fear of losing someone, clear as day on Howard’s face.

Gary can’t keep the emotion from his voice. ‘You think something’s happened, don’t you?’

‘Mark wouldn’t be gone this long unless he met someone, and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t cos we haven’t seen another car for _hours_. We need to go out make sure,’ Howard says, meaning _me_.

Gary looks in the direction of the road, or what’s left of it really. There aren’t any lights, so he can only make out a couple of metres of road at best. The sun’s disappeared so quickly that it’s like someone’s blocked it out. Hidden behind the rainclouds in the sky, there are a million stars waiting to be wished upon.

If Jason were here, he’d find it all incredibly romantic. He was able to find beauty in everything, from writing a love song to the quiet moments before lights went out in a venue. Like Mark, he knew how to see magic in even the simple things in life.

Then again – if Jason were here, they probably wouldn’t have gotten stranded in the first place. They’d be sat at home, enjoying a cup of Yorkshire Tea after a long day of shooting car commercials. Perhaps they wouldn’t have agreed to do the commercials at all. Jay always knew when to stop saying “yes” to everything.

As for the rest of them, they’ve rather messed it up. Howard’s managed to break the car; Gary’s being a cold, confused mess in a blanket, turning red whenever his mates so much look at him; and Mark probably got side-tracked by a caterpillar.

Gary _really_ hopes Mark got side-tracked by a caterpillar.

‘It could be nothing,’ Howard says, sensing Gary’s worry. He tries to flash a smile that’s supposed to be reassuring, but it only makes Gary feel worse. ‘I’ll be back before you know it, promise.’

_But what about_ me, Gary thinks again, childishly. He doesn’t want to be left in a car on his own.

‘Take me with you,’ he whispers as much. He reaches out for Howard’s hand in the dark and squeezes it. He knows Howard can’t read his mind, but perhaps if Gary squeezes his hand tightly enough he’ll know how scared he is.

Because Gary desperately doesn’t want to be left on his own. Not here. Not _now_. Not in a car in a forest with God knows how many wild animals all around them. Just hearing the distant hooting of an owl makes his blood turn cold.

‘Someone needs to stay in the car,’ Howard reiterates, though not with much conviction. ‘It’s the only shelter we have. We can’t risk losing it.’

_I can’t risk losing_ you, Gary thinks, but he doesn’t want to say it out loud. He squeezes Howard’s hand as tightly as he can without hurting him. If Howard knew how fast his heart is beating, quick like the rain on the windshield of the car, he’d laugh out loud.

Right at that moment, the rain turns into proper downpour; one of those torrential Amazonian rainstorms that could easily split the Earth. One particularly heavy drop of rain lands on Howard’s cheek, and Gary immediately – stupidly – wipes it off with his thumb. He doesn’t even think about it. He just does it, not knowing that the touch – just a simple graze; a mere feather touching the ground – makes the skin on Howard’s cheek tingle like fireworks.

It’s not until the sky roars with the promise of a thunderstorm that Gary realises what he’s done. He turns bright red. Mortified, he pushes his hands into his paper-thin summer jacket and starts making his way down the road, alone. He drags his white Suzuki blanket pathetically across the ground behind him.

‘Gary, wait!’

Gary’s thoughts have turned into a staccato of swear words. He walks so quickly that he almost trips over his own two feet, wishing desperately that one of the potholes in the road would swallow him whole.

What the fuck did he think he was doing, touching Howard _there_? This is not a romantic movie. This is not a novel. Howard will never like him like that. The only touches he’ll ever get are the ones he gets on stage, quick and meaningless.

‘ _Gaz_.’ Howard catches up with Gary in just four strides of his long legs. He steps in front of him, forcing his friend to stop.

‘G-Get out of my way, Howard.’ In less than a minute, the rain has soaked Gary from top to bottom. His wet hair is sticking to his forehead. He’s trembling like a leaf, and he’s making more eye contact with the ground than with Howard. ‘I-I’m not going to stay in the car while me mate’s stuck in the rain.’

Howard holds up his hands in surrender. ‘I know. I shouldn’t have suggested that. I’m sorry. We’ll go looking for him together, okay?’

‘P-Promise?’

‘Promise, mate.’

‘O-Okay,’ Gary stammers, still looking anywhere but at Howard. He doesn’t want his mate to know that _he’s_ the reason Mark left in the first place. If he’d just stayed quiet about fancying Howard, Mark would still be here, laughing and smiling and staring up at the trees like they hold all of the world’s answers.

As for Howard, he’s a bit lost for words to be honest. He kind of enjoyed Gary suddenly wiping the rain off his face. Something about it felt good. Safe. Familiar. He likes that about Gary, how familiar he feels. Gary is the type of guy he wouldn’t mind coming home with after a long tour. Is it wrong of him to think that? Perhaps. It’s been a while since he had thoughts like that about anyone.

Howard shakes off the thought with an infinitesimal shake of his head. Now is not the time to think about how much he likes being touched by Gaz.

‘Anyway, if we’re going to go looking for Mark we should probably get you something to stay dry.’ Here, Howard suddenly pops open a small umbrella that he’d tucked into the pockets of his coat and holds it above Gary’s head. The umbrella is brand new; it’s covered in a massive red Suzuki logo. ‘Unless you felt like _affectionately_ wiping the rain off me face again, Gaz?’

Gary flushes. He can tell that Howard’s only taking the piss, but he can still feel his body flooding with embarrassment and warmth and a vague _something else_. Something more. ‘I’m going to wipe that smug grin off your face if you’re not careful, lad. Where were you even hiding that?’

Howard pats his coat with his free hand. ‘Big pockets. You’d know that if you’d actually bothered to dress for autumn.’

Gary rolls his eyes. ‘I hope you get stuck in a ditch,’ he says, though he doesn’t mean it of course. He feels all warm and fuzzy inside when Howard returns his grin.

Something in the air has shifted, and it’s not just the air turning colder or the stars coming out.

***

Being alone in the woods has really spooked Mark. Ever since the monsters in the shadows turned out to be just trees, his brain has constantly been on high alert. He stops and trembles every time he hears a sound he can’t quite place. Every shadow could be a ghost, or worse. He treads carefully, afraid that if he puts one foot wrong he’ll fall.

He’d love to say that he knows where he’s going, but he doesn’t, to be honest. The only thing he has to go on is the fact that the forest floor is sloping gently upwards, hopefully towards a tall hill or a forest clearing where he can get his bearings. The road he was following earlier was going down, so it makes sense that he goes up if he wants to get back to the lads.

At least, he . . . thinks it does. He’s never gotten lost in a forest before, and it’s hard to think. He wishes he’d kept track of time; he has no idea how much time has passed since he chased Doggie the Dog.

‘I hope Howard and Gaz are all right at least,’ he mumbles miserably to himself. He shivers; a raindrop has just made its way down the back of his neck. ‘They’ll probably be sheltering from the rain in the car. Maybe they’ve kissed by now. I hope they’ve kissed. At least, I think I do . . .’

Mark stops to overlook his surroundings, hoping that somewhere, maybe, there’s a benevolent creature listening to him talking to himself. ‘To be honest, forest, I don’t know _what_ I want anymore. Everything seems so much more complicated than it did before.’

Mark’s reminded of a phrase he’s often heard: _absence makes the heart grow fonder._ He never really understood that phrase before, but ever since he’s been here, alone, he finds that his fondness for his mates has grown stronger than it was before. He _misses_ them. He . . . wants them.

à Whereas Mark previously only wanted a hug from his mates, he now finds himself wishing he could do more with them. Not just Gaz, but Howard too. Both of them. He wishes the raindrops rolling down his neck were Howard’s mouth, kissing him there. He wishes Gary would pull him onto his lap in front of a toasty fireplace and do unspeakable things to him. He wishes they could share a bed and shelter from the rain – together.

He’s never felt a desire for his bandmates this strongly before, and he hates that he does. Gary’s meant for _Howard_ , not him. Howard’s meant for Gary. Even so much _thinking_ about it sends a flush of shame through his chest.  

Mark tries to ignore his feelings and focusses instead of the things he can see, hear and feel. The rain is coming down heavily now. A raindrop has landed on his nose. In the distance, there’s the hooting of an owl. Looking up, Mark can see trees and a cloudy sky. There are no stars. He sighs. He _loves_ stars.

He stops for a moment to attempt to pinpoint where he is, arms akimbo. He’s pretty sure he’s just walked past the same tree twice. ‘Why haven’t I seen a road yet?’ he says nonsensically to himself. ‘There has to be a road around here, surely. If I were a road, where would I go?’

Right on cue, Mark catches a glimpse of hope: a bright light, just up ahead, in between the trees. It _could_ be a road. Or a flashlight. Or a car, driving past. Maybe it’s a _star_.

He decides to head towards it. The light doesn’t move; it’s stationary, like a house. Even in the darkness and the cold, seeing the light makes Mark feel a spark of hope. Maybe he’s finally found shelter!

Mark nearly trips over his own two feet as he half-walks, half-runs in the direction of the light. It keeps getting closer. And closer.

He keeps going. He’s nearly there now. The surface of the forest has changed: it’s become a dangerous, unstable mix of leaves, rocks and dirt. He winches when he can feel the sharp end of a low-hanging branch cutting a hole into his skin like a deep papercut. The place where the branch cut him feels instantly wet. _Blood_. He keeps going.

The light hasn’t moved. It’s nearly as big as his thumb. It has _got_ to be a house. Or a car. Or a farm, guiding him home like a lighthouse in the dark.

The rain is coming down hard now. His hair sticks to his forehead in thick clumps. He’s cold. His trainers are soaked, making unpleasant squelchy noises as he goes. His face is covered in rain. The surface of the forest has become rocky and hard. There are deep inclines in the ground everywhere; dangerous two-metre drops that are impossible to see in the dark.

The rain has made Mark’s eyesight blurry. He stops to wipe his eyes with his scarf, not knowing that he’s stopped in front of a steep drop. He accidentally misplaces his foot. The rocks give way underneath his feet, and he slips. He lets out a loud scream. It’s him versus gravity.

Someone presses pause on the world. The forest goes upside down in slow-motion, slowing down his fall to the smallest microsecond. He feels something sharp and painful slicing open his leg. The light in the distance fades out of view, like a dying star flickering out, disappearing as though it was never even there.

He hits his head on a rock, and his own light goes out.

 


	2. Out of the woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where frankly things become a bit weird and magical, but I rather like it. There's also a lot of kissing.

Howard and Gary have been walking down the road for the past seven minutes. It's still raining, and they have no idea that Mark is currently lying in a ditch, unconscious.

The rain doesn't seem to stop. Howard is holding an umbrella over their heads, but the umbrella is so small that the lads both have to hold on to it so they can both benefit from its cover. This is harder than it seems: occasionally Gary forgets that Howard is taller than him and ends up nearly poking his eye out. More often than not, the umbrella gives Howard more shelter than Gaz.

In the end, they both agree to put away the umbrella and let the rain pour down on their heads. The umbrella was making them too slow anyway, and Gary didn’t really like the way Howard’s arm would keep brushing up against his own.

That is, he did like it. Very much. But he isn’t going to tell Howard that, is he?

About five minutes later, they think they’ve reached the part of the road where Gary watched Mark disappear behind a tree an hour ago. The road is gradually sloping down the hill, but it’s too dark to make out where it’s headed.

Howard has to use the flashlight on his phone to illuminate the road. By the looks of it, it’s just an endless stretch of tarmac. In the distance, they can make out a sign that simply reads: ENTER THE WOODS AT YOUR OWN RISK. Howard’s heart makes an unpleasant leap seeing that.

Gary doesn’t like the look of the sign either. His pulse quickens as he feels guilt and worries picking away at him. The road is so long that a person walking down it would be pretty hard to miss, and yet they haven’t seen Mark since he left. ‘Why do I feel like we should have met up with Mark already?’

‘I know. The road is right there.’ Howard shines his flashlight on the road as far as he can manage it. They can see dozens of potholes and trees on either side of the road, but Mark isn’t there. The road is empty. ‘Something’s happened to ‘im, I can feel it.’

Gary stares anxiously down the road until Howard turns off his flashlight and everything goes black. He wishes for only the fourth time that day that he was in bed, two blankets covering his body, hot cup of chocolate milk on his bedside cabinet, Howard and Mark in his arms. Or just Howard. Or just Mark. He’s still figuring that last bit out.

‘What do you think we should do?’ Gary asks.

‘We keep looking. He can’t have gone far. Unless . . .’ Howard spots something on the ground then, some four or five metres away from the road, a little way into the forest. An involuntary sound escapes Gary’s mouth when Howard flashes his light on it.

It’s Mark’s copy of A Better Me.

‘Fuck.’ Howard runs towards the book on the ground so quickly that one of the granola bars from the Suzuki goodie bags nearly tumbles out of his pocket. He bends over to pick up the book from the ground. It’s covered in leaves and mud, and Mark’s bookmark has bent in two.

Using his flashlight on the ground, Howard notices a trail of footprints moving deeper into the forest. ‘Gaz. Look.’

Gary’s spotted the footprints too. His breaths start coming in quick, sharp pants. ‘I have a really bad feeling about this.’ He doesn’t know what else to say; his mouth has gone dry.

‘Me too. The footprints are pretty deep, though – I reckon we can use them to track Mark down. What’d you think?’

Guilt twists Gary up inside. The only reason Mark left was so he could give him a moment alone with Howard, and now look what’s happened. If they never see Mark again he’ll never forgive himself.

‘Gaz. Help me out here,’ says Howard. ‘Do you think we should head into the forest?’

Gary was so lost in thought that he had completely tuned out Howard’s question. He blinks and looks at the track of footprints Howard’s phone is illuminating, twisting left and right until they disappear. In the distance, the trees are devoid of leaves, making them look like skeletal creatures stood out against the dark. It’s the scariest part of the forest they’ve come across thus far.

‘I-I don’t know.’ Gary glances at Howard beside him, who has a worried but determined look in his eyes. ‘I’m fucking terrified, How. There’s a reason we haven’t seen a single car for the past three hours – no one wants to bloody be here.’

‘You can hold my hand if you want.’

Gary rolls his eyes. ‘Very funny, How.’

‘No, I’m serious. You can hold my hand.’

Gary glances at Howard’s hand, outstretched and firm-looking. He’s always dreamed of walking hand-in-hand with Howard. He never thought that moment would come in a forest of all places.

‘Are you sure? You know I’m not a quick walker, How.’

‘I don’t mind. I just don’t wanna lose you. I can’t be arsed to look for both you and Mark.’

Gary smiles. Even in the dark, on the precipice of following Mark’s footsteps into the unknown, Gary has found something potentially wonderful.

His fingers entwine with Howard’s. They fit like a glove. He gives Howard’s hand a tiny squeeze to keep the guilt away.

‘Let’s go,’ Gary says, unable to keep the quiver from his voice. He tries to banish the bad thoughts from his mind and says it again. He sounds more determined this time; stronger. ‘Let’s go.’

Howard just nods. They walk into the forest hand-in-hand. The going gets tough after only a couple of minutes. They have to step over branches left and right. Twigs crunch loudly beneath their feet. Howard’s coat is so full of stuff from the Suzuki goodie bags that his pockets make a terrible racket. The trees appear taller here; nearly the size of skyscrapers. Gary lets out a hysterical yelp when he sees a rabbit shooting away in front of him. Howard’s loud snort is instantly rewarded with a punch in the ribs.

With the trees having been stripped off their leaves, Gary can see the evening stars shining like silver petals above him. There are no roads here; just makeshift paths once created by an animal. The forest smells of leaves and grass. It’s so dark that the boys can hardly see each other’s expressions. Whenever a tree or a blocked path forces the lads to let go, Gary finds Howard’s hand again within moments; seconds.

As it turns out, Howard is a comfortingly calm person to get lost in a forest with. He doesn’t speak unless he absolutely has to. He seems to know what he’s doing. Apart from that one time Howard gives his mate the fright of his life by joking that there’s a big spider on his back, Gary trusts him completely.

Gary just wishes he didn’t feel so guilty. What their journey would be like if Mark were here, he wonders. Mark would probably be talking constantly, commenting on a tree here and a leaf there, and finding impossible beauty everywhere he goes. Gary misses him terribly.

As they head deeper into the woods, Mark’s footsteps become a lot harder to see next to all the leaves and nuts scattered on the forest floor. In some places, there aren’t any leaves at all; here and there the ground consists entirely of rock, with some areas of the forest surface disappearing into deep crevices in the ground. Navigating the forest has become suddenly dangerous.

At one point, they lose track of Mark’s trail of footsteps completely. They’ve reached a dead end. Where Mark has gone next, they do not know.

Howard turns on his flashlight and shines it left and right. All he can see is trees, rocks and leaves: the exact same ones he saw ten minutes ago, or so it seems. The forest has become a labyrinthine wilderness where everything is identical but for the stars above their heads. Even if they do find Mark (hopefully taking photos of owls, Gary thinks desperately to himself), they’re probably going to find it hard to find their way back.

‘See Mark anywhere, Gaz?’

Gary looks for signs of their mate as hard as he can. With Mark’s trail having suddenly disappeared in the midst of a rocky surface, it’s hard to predict where he might have gone next. Has he gone straight ahead, where there are fewer trees and a complete view of the night sky, or left and right, where there are more trees and perhaps shelter from the rain? He doesn’t have a fucking clue.

‘D’you know what, How, I fucking hate the outdoors now,’ Gary sighs theatrically. ‘Next time I walk me dog, I’m gonna do it in the middle of London. No more countryside for me. I guess I’ll just die of all the pollution, me. That sounds great, that.’

Gary tries to say all of this very light-heartedly, but he can’t stop his body from making a violent shiver then. Howard gives his hand a reassuring squeeze.

‘You okay, Gaz?’

It’s a good thing it’s dark, for Gary has gone bright red. There’s something about Howard’s hand touching his own that makes him feel like they’re on their very first date, except Gary would never have knowingly agreed to going on a date in a forest, and Howard doesn’t like him back anyway.

‘It’s just the cold,’ Gary lies. He rubs his arms for added effect.

‘You know you can still head back to the car.’

Gary resolutely shakes his head. He doesn’t want to be the one opting out of the scary things like he always does on tour. ‘I want to stay with you. Let’s keep looking.’

They head into the direction they most believe Mark would head in, towards the clearing up ahead. Even though there are fewer trees, it’s still hard to navigate the forest, for dangerous roots are hidden underneath the piles of leaves, making Gary occasionally lose his footing. Deep crevices are hidden in the dark. Howard often has to duck to avoid a low-hanging branch, and one time Gary nearly walks into a tree when Howard gives him a soft smile. They keep holding hands.

By now, the rain has fizzled out into a mere drizzle. The clouds have entirely disappeared from the sky, and more stars are becoming visible through the foliage above their heads. The moon, a perfect circle, offers enough light to allow Howard to pocket his phone.

Whereas the forest was previously basked in an orange glow just an hour ago, the woods are now an eerie blueish grey, from the leaves to the trees to the sky itself. Even though it’s quite a scary colour for a forest to have, it does give Gary some comfort: the blue light reminds him slightly of the scene in Star Wars when Yoda trains Luke, funnily enough.

They reach the forest clearing hand-in-hand. Here, there are much fewer trees; so few that the clearing would make the perfect place for a campsite. Looking up, the lads can see nothing but stars and the full moon smiling back at them. The ground is an uneven miniature version of a mountainscape, with soft grass alternated with hard rock.

But while the clearing is easily the most beautiful place the lads have seen so far tonight, Mark is nowhere to be found.

‘He’s not here,’ Gary says as much. He feels another wave of guilt making its way up his body like nausea, and he tries to focus on all the things he can see in front of him. He sees: the stars sprinkling in the night sky; the carpet of grass and rock underneath his feet; the way the ground looks like a mountain range in miniature; the deep crevices in the ground; the line of trees in the distance, behind which the forest begins anew; small, pathetic tree stumps that used to be towering monoliths of nature; and just ahead, standing out against the moonlit grass, Mark’s yellow highlighter.

Gary’s heart skips a beat like he missed a step going down a staircase. He drags Howard by the hand towards the highlighter and picks it up from the ground. It’s covered in dirt. Rainwater has made it useless.

‘Mark used this to highlight parts of me book,’ Gary says with a gulp. He feels another wave of regret rising up his throat. He desperately wishes he could turn back time. ‘If Mark hadn’t read that bloody book then he’d—’

Gary bites his tongue. He thinks he’s stopped his sentence just in time, but his mate’s pretty quick on the uptake. ‘Then what?’

Gary feels blood rushing to his face. If Mark hadn’t read his book and found that excerpt about how “sexy” Howard is, they wouldn’t be here. Mark would never have offered to embark on a useless search for some stranger in a house down the road somewhere. They’d still be in the car – all three of them, together. Safe.

‘I – I mean, if Mark hadn’t brought me book along with him, we wouldn’t know where to look,’ Gary lies. He pockets Mark’s highlighter and attempts to look hopeful even though he can feel his hopes of ever finding Mark again getting away from him like quicksand. ‘He has to be around here somewhere. Let’s keep looking.’

For a lack of other clues, the lads head into the direction the tip of the highlighter was pointing at, away from the clearing and back into the forest.

Gary tries to slap a positive smile on his face as they leave the clearing with Mark’s highlighter in his pocket, but he couldn’t feel more worried. His legs feel heavy. He even rejects Howard offering him one of the granola bars he took with him.

‘Are you sure you don’t want a bite?’ Howard says, snapping the bar in middle and offering one half to Gary. He pockets the white wrapper with the Suzuki logo on it. ‘You haven’t eaten for ages.’

‘It’s okay,’ Gary lies. His tummy is rumbling. ‘I had a big bowl of porridge this morning. I’ll be fine.’

‘Then at least have something to drink,’ Howard presses, remembering the unopened bottle of water in his pocket.

‘I’m fine. Let’s save the water for when we find Mark.’

Truth is, Gary’s completely lost his appetite. He feels dizzy, he’s got a bloody headache and his tummy hurts. The last time he felt anything like it was on the opening night of their comeback tour, over ten years ago. It’s the accumulation of a thousand different worries, trying to fight its way out of his body.

But instead of worrying about being back on stage, this time he’s worried about what may have happened to Mark.

Gary’s worst fears come true in the shape of a twig. Howard spots it before he does. It’s a speck of blood on the branch of a dead, leafless tree covered with spikes sharp enough to cut a serious gash into someone’s skin. The blood glistens so brightly in the moonlight that you don’t even need a flashlight to see it.

‘It’s fresh,’ Howard says, putting his finger to the branch and coming away with a thin layer of blood. ‘It could be Mark’s.’

It’s the last thing Gary wanted to hear. Overcome with sudden and overwhelming dizziness, Gary has to lean his hand against the bark of a tree. It’s wet. His breath starts coming in sharp, rapid bursts, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut when he feels a serious migraine coming on. He doesn’t dare look Howard in the eye.

‘Gaz. This doesn’t have to mean anything, okay?’ Howard says. He sounds close. He grabs Gary’s hand and gives him a reassuring squeeze. ‘The poor sod probably just cut his pinkie or something. We’ll find ‘im, I promise.’

Howard sounds so soft that Gary has no choice but to look him in the eye again. Howard smiles at him then, and the dam breaks.

‘This is all my fault.’ The words tumble out of Gary before he can stop them. His hand shoots to his mouth, but it’s already too late.

Howard gives him a confused look. ‘What is?’

‘A-All of it.’ More words; more confessions that Gary can’t stop. His entire body starts shaking as though he’s fallen into an icy lake. His words become an incoherent mess. ‘Mark leaving, us getting stranded – it’s all because of m-me. I’m so sorry, How. I’m s-so sorry.’

‘Don’t say that, you idiot.’ Howard pulls Gary into a tight, gentle hug. He starts rubbing his hands up and down Gary’s back to get some warmth into him, and Gary lets out an involuntary sound that sounds half like a sob, half like a moan. ‘This is not your fault, okay?’

‘But i-it is,’ Gary mutters tearfully. He looks up at Howard’s face with tears streaking his cheeks. He’s too afraid to hug Howard back in case he does it too tightly, so his arms hang limply next to his sides. He’s lost control of his words; they fall out of him like a waterfall. ‘The r-reason Mark left is because of me. I did that, Howard. It’s all my fault,’ he reiterates.

Howard lets out a nervous laugh. Now that he thinks about it, Mark and Gary did spend an awful lot of time talking to each other before Mark decided to walk down the hill, alone. Why was that? What were they talking about that made Mark stay away for more than an hour? Did Mark stay away deliberately or did Gary make him?

‘I don’t understand,’ Howard says. ‘Why is Mark leaving your fault?’

Gary sniffs. He looks uncomfortably into Howard’s eyes. In any other circumstance he would have loved being held by Howard like this – hands placed lightly on his back, fingers grazing his sides –, but he’s so consumed by fear and grief that he can’t feel anything. The only thing he can still feel is the guilt on his shoulders, weighing him down like a stone.

‘Mark didn’t just leave cos he wanted to find someone, h-he . . .’ Gary takes a deep breath. He has to tell Howard the real reason Mark left. If he doesn’t, guilt will eat him up inside until there’s nothing left of him but bones scattered on the forest floor. ‘H-he left cos he wanted me to have a moment alone w-with you.’

The relative ease of the words takes Gary by surprise. It’s as if they’ve been waiting to be spoken all day.

Howard doesn’t get it, though. His mouth curls into a nervous smile. He stops rubbing his hands up and down Gary’s back. ‘Why would Mark want you to be alone with me?’

Gary swallows. He knows that what he’s about to say is going to change his and Howard’s life forever, potentially even ruining their friendship, but he has to say it. He’d rather confess his feelings to Howard than live with the guilt of losing Mark forever.

‘Mark left me alone with you cos I fancy you, How. I – I like you.’

Howard takes an unconscious step backwards. He loosens his grip on Gary’s back. His brain fills itself up with a hundred different thoughts at a time.

Howard’s first thought – a thought that lasts only a second really, miniscule compared to the anger that follows – is that this is what he’s always wanted. Gary loving him back is the best thing ever. It’s the ticker tape at the end of a concert. It’s all his Christmases and birthdays arriving at the same time.

His second thought is that Gary’s joking. Gary doesn’t love him. Gary loves music and keyboards and Star Wars and musicals and performing on stage and porridge and smoothies and his dogs — not Howard Donald, one-third of Take That. Gary can’t possibly love him like that. This is just the fear talking.

‘You don’t love me.’ Howard sounds mocking. Hurt. He thinks Gary confessing his love to him is a bad joke; just Gary taking the piss because he’s cold and scared – one of those silly things you say to take the edge off. ‘This is just you talkin’ out of your fucking arse.’

‘It’s not. I promise you, it’s not.’ In a desperate attempt to convince Howard of his truth, he reaches out for his mate’s hand and places it on his chest, right where the material of his summer jacket is at its thinnest and you can feel his heartbeat. It’s beating as quickly as the rain that was falling down on them earlier. ‘I love you, Howard.’

Gary has to blink away tears. This is it, he thinks, thirty years of friendship flushed down the drain because of some silly crush.

‘Bollocks,’ is all Howard says. He pulls away his hand from Gary’s chest as though he’s burned it, and everything stops.

The forest is so quiet that Gary can hear the blood rushing in his ears. He can’t stop shaking. There’s the sound of crisps crunching as Howard digs his hands into the pockets of his coat, still filled with shit from the goodie bags from Suzuki. If a root were about to push up from the ground and curl its tendrils around his ankles, he’d let it swallow him whole.

He’s never felt anything like this. Gary Barlow doesn’t do regret. He doesn’t regret anything he did when the band were together the first time round, and he doesn’t even regret the things he did during the wilderness years. Those things happened. They’re over now. End of story.

But this? Confessing to Howard that he loves him? Gary instantly wishes he could take it back. He wishes he could say, ‘I was only joking, mate. You believed me for a second there, didn’t you? You should have seen your face.’ But he can’t. He doesn’t want to lie to the person he holds most dear in the world.

After what feels like a century, Howard speaks again. He does so with anger and frailty, and a hint of hope, somewhere, somehow – but only if you bother to look for it. ‘Why have you never told me this? Why now?’

‘Please don’t ask me this.’

‘I just have,’ Howard retorts. ‘Why the fuck are you telling me this now, Gaz?’

Gary swallows. He knows that Howard deserves the truth about him, from when he first knew he loved him to the moment when Cupid decided to pierce a second arrow through his heart. Gary has to tell him everything.

‘The reason I never told you . . . it’s b-because I also love someone else,’ Gary stammers. ‘I didn’t want to hurt t-them by – by choosing you.’

Howard wasn’t expecting that. He tries and fails to wrestle his confused thoughts into some sort of order. ‘This second person – do they know you love them?’

‘No.’

‘And this guy or girl or whatever, is it someone I know?’

‘It’s M-Mark, Howard,’ Gary says, the whole thing coming out in a rush. ‘The other guy is Mark.’

Howard stares at Gary, dumbstruck. They’ve reached a complete standstill, a crossroads. There’s no way back from this.

‘You like Mark, Gaz?’

Gary nods. He tries to pull his dirty, twig-covered blanket tighter around his shoulders with his frozen, clumsy fingers, convinced that he’s given Howard another reason to hate him. His entire body is like that: lifeless, limb and frozen, and suspended in time. His life stopped the moment he told Howard the truth.

‘I love you and Mark both, How. I’m so sorry, mate, I really am.’

Howard feels hot and cold all over. He doesn’t know what to say, and he stares vacantly into the distance as though he’s an actor who’s been given a brand new script. Gary confessing his love for him is something he’s wanted for nearly all his life, but now that it’s become a reality he doesn’t know what to do anymore. He feels a confusing mix of confusion and happiness: a life-threatening concoction when you’re in a forest, alone.

And the fact that Gary loves Mark as well? That makes it even more confusing because deep down Howard’s always loved Mark in that way too. Could the three of them ever love each other equally, as lovers? Is that what Gary meant when he said he loves him and Mark both?

Howard never gets the chance to ask. An ear-piercing shout for help makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he forgets everything. His brain identifies the sound before he can lock eyes with Gary.

‘Mark,’ Gary says, the name like a curse on his lips.

Howard nods. A look of understanding passes between them, and they run off into the direction of the sound, their conversation entirely forgotten, for now.

They run as fast as their legs can carry them. Howard’s quicker. He’s the first one to spot Mark at the bottom of a sort of crevice; a natural rock passage where it looks like the earth has split in two, about three metres into the ground. Howard has to jump into it to get to him.

The drop is so high that Howard nearly sprains his ankle, but he doesn’t even care. He quickly drops down to the ground on his knees and cradles Mark’s limp body in his arms, the food from the Suzuki goodie bags spilling from his pockets.

As he wipes the hair from Mark’s forehead, Howard can see that Mark’s unconscious. He’s bleeding; a thick trail of blood is running down his temple. It looks fresh. Mark’s still breathing; his chest moves slowly up and down.

Thank God.

Howard quickly tries to tries to make sense of the situation. His eyes follow the two rock walls he’s sat between, covered almost entirely in moss. It’s as though someone parted the ground like Moses parting the sea, creating a miniature ravine that can easily be missed in the dark. Mark must have slipped and fallen into it.

He gently pats his mate on the cheek. ‘Mark? Mark, can you hear me, mate?’ No response. Mark is out cold.

It’s only then that Gary shows up. Taking the long way round into the passage because he was too scared to jump down, he approaches his mates from the other side, where the bottom of the crevice slopes gently back towards the ground. When his gaze lands on his Mark’s bloodied face – eyes closed, face full of bruises, cuts on his cheeks – his heart sinks.

In just a single second, Gary can see his life with Mark flashing before him: meeting Mark for the first time; travelling the world with him; seeing Mark blossom as a songwriter; Mark smiling at him from afar. All those moments disappear in an instant.

‘I-Is he . . . ?’

‘He’s still breathing,’ Howard says, and Gary lets out a deep exhale.

‘Thank God.’ Gary has to place his hand on the moss-covered wall of the rock passage to steady himself. What do we do now?’

Howard says nothing. He picks up Mark’s unconscious body from the ground and gets unsteadily on his feet with his mate in his arms. With Howard having made no mention of Gary’s feelings since they heard Mark cry out, Gary is hit with the overwhelming thought that this is all his fault: first Mark disappearing, and now this, finding Mark at the bottom of a bloody crevice, unconscious. Howard must think he’s a right idiot.

‘We need to get him back to the car,’ Howard says finally. He sounds vexed; this whole evening has left him swimming in a dark mood. He looks in the direction Gary came in. ‘Did you jump down just now?’

Gary shakes his head. He can’t stop staring at Mark’s usually so beautiful face, now covered in blood all over. His eyes are closed, but he doesn’t look peaceful.

‘I – I walked down,’ Gary stammers. His face crumples for a moment, looking like he’s about to cry, but then he recovers himself. He points a shaky finger in the direction he came in. ‘T-there’s a path going up the p-passage right behind me.’

‘Then that’s where we’ll take ‘im.’

Navigating out of a narrow, natural rock passage in the dark isn’t easy when you’re carrying someone. Mark is a bit heavier than he looks, bless him, and the surface of the passage is surprisingly slippery. Carrying Mark like he’s Superman carrying Lois Lane, it takes Howard several minutes to climb back to the surface.

Once they’ve made it out of the crevice, the lads are confronted with yet another problem: here, the ground of the forest is an alarming mix of rocks and moss, meaning that they won’t be able to trace their own footsteps back to the car. Worse still, the trees all look absolutely identical, and the clouds cover the skies.

‘You don’t happen to know where we need to go, do you?’ Gary sounds worried. Scared. He can’t stop staring at Mark, and he wishes he could muster up the courage to wipe the blood off his face. He hates seeing his mate like this.

‘I’m not sure.’ Howard chews the inside of his cheek. He thinks they arrived from that way, right behind that tree with the branches that look a little like arms waving at them, but he’s not sure. ‘I don’t have a fucking clue where we came from. If only our phones worked, then I could—’

The words freeze in Howard’s mouth. He feels Mark is stirring in his arms, and he instantly forgets what he wanted to say. He watches Mark waking up then, and it’s the most reassuring thing he’s ever seen.

‘Oh my,’ is all Mark says. He groans and squeezes his eyes shut. He touches his hand to his temple. ‘Oh dear.’

Gary feels relief washing all over him. He has half a mind to hurry to Mark’s side to pull him into a tight hug, then he remembers what Howard knows about him and he thinks better of it. He sheepishly watches Howard holding Mark unfairly tight from a distance, too afraid to get close in case his disgusting feelings are infectious and more terrible things will happen because of him.

‘Can you stand, Mark?’ This comes from Howard. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘Maybe. I don’t know.’ Mark again touches his temple, and the tips of his fingers come away with blood. He looks at Howard with watery, squinty eyes. ‘Did you always have a twin brother, Howard? You two look very alike, you know. And Gaz too,’ he adds when he spots Gary standing a little distance away. ‘Why did you never say you have twins? He’s very handsome. Oh, look, the trees are spinning. How wonderful.’

With Mark obviously being slightly delirious and talking even more nonsense than usual, Howard reckons his mate is better off sitting down rather than being carried in his arms. He looks around for a clean spot of grass, then conveniently finds a large tree stump. He gently puts his mate down on the stump, then perches in front of him on the ground.

Gary remains frozen on the spot, a dozen thoughts and regrets flooding his brain. What if Mark has a concussion? When is Howard ever going to bring up his feelings? Is the band over now? Are they ever going to get out of here? He doesn’t know what worries him more.

Meanwhile, Howard’s checking out Mark’s injuries like he’s a doctor examining a patient. Although Mark’s obviously somewhat concussed, the cut on his temple seems to be his only injury, thank God. His right calve seems to be bleeding, but he’ll get to that later. ‘You okay, Mark? You look like a right mess. Hang on, I’m going to clean your face.’

Howard reaches into the pocket of his coat. He opens the bottle of water that he found in the car earlier and carefully wets a napkin with the car logo on it. He hands Mark the bottle and gently pats the napkin against Mark’s skin to get rid of the blood on his face.

‘You were talking like you was seeing double just now,’ Howard says as he watches Mark taking tiny sips of water from the bottle. ‘How are getting on with that?’

‘It’s better now. I think.’ Mark blinks a couple of times very quickly and hands back the bottle of water. ‘No, there’s just one of you now. I wish you’d stop shouting at me, though. You have a very loud voice, Howard. I’ve heard fans quieter than you.’

Howard’s pretty sure he hasn’t been shouting, but he lowers his voice anyway. He places one hand reassuringly on Mark’s knee, and Gary feels a nasty stab of jealousy. ‘Can you remember what we’ve been doing today?’

‘We shot a music video this morning,’ Mark says slowly. His brain is rather foggy, and he has to dig deep to find the memories. ‘No – three commercials. I think. We got stranded in the woods, and then – then I left so I could find help, didn’t I? Yeah, I left to find help, and then I got lost. There was a dog,’ he adds in hindsight.

Gary raises his eyebrows. ‘A dog?’

‘It might have been two. I can’t remember. But I left so we could find shelter, and I accidentally walked into the woods because I thought the dog would lead me to a farm.’ Mark conveniently leaves out the part of his adventure when he mistook the trees for shadowy monsters. He still hasn’t quite figured out what that was all about. ‘I can’t even remember falling and hitting me head, to be honest. Everything went dark, and the next thing I know I wake up in Howard’s arms.’

Gary has to avert his eyes when he sees Howard looking at him. See what you’ve done, his eyes seem to say. Even if they got out of the forest alive, nothing will ever be the same again. He can feel it in the way Howard is carrying himself, eyes burning into Gary’s skin, quietly judging him for being the one to allow Mark to get injured, but also for fancying both of his bandmates.

Because they never finished their conversation. What if Howard is angry with him for loving him? What if he’s just given Howard a reason to hate him? What if the thread of Gary’s confession will forever be left hanging in the air, never to be picked up again, forever ignored until the band splits up because of it?

Even Mark, barely awake, his world spinning uncomfortably on its axis, can see that a transformation has taken place. Howard and Gary seem more distant than usual. Howard isn’t smiling and joking as much as he used to. Gary looks absent-minded and pale, his eyes trained firmly on the ground. He’s barely talked since they found Mark, not even bothering to give him a hug or smile at him like he usually does.

Something happened while Mark was gone, and he can’t tell whether it was a good or a bad thing.

‘Did something happen while I was gone?’ Mark asks as much, but he doesn’t get an answer. Gary keeps staring at his trainers while Howard wipes the matted hair from Mark’s forehead to look at the wound he just spent several minutes cleaning.

‘We need to get you to a hospital as soon as we can,’ he says, ignoring Mark’s question completely. ‘It’s a pretty deep gash you’ve got there.’

‘It’s just a scratch, How.’ Mark doesn’t really fancy the idea of his head injury taking up his mates’ precious “getting to know each other time”, and he’s sure a head wound isn’t serious enough to warrant a visit to the hospital anyway. He bravely tries to get up from his tree stump to demonstrate that he’s fine, thank you very much, but he doesn’t get far; a sharp pain like his skin being sliced open shoots through his right calve, and the forest starts spinning again. Howard and Gary once more gain handsome twin brothers before Mark swoons lady-like on the spot and he feels his arse colliding hard with the tree stump.

Things go black for a second. Mark’s ears are ringing like he’s inside the engine of a plane. He hides his face in his hands for a second, body bent over because he feels like he’s about to be sick. He’s only vaguely aware of Howard rolling up the trouser pant of his right leg.

‘Fucking hell, Mark, you’re bleeding all over.’

Howard’s talking about Mark’s calve. Upon rolling up Mark’s pant leg, Howard discovers that there’s a large cut on Mark’s calve like he was attacked by a tiger.

Mark makes a strangled sound of shock when he removes his hands from his face and cranes his neck to have a look at his own calve, covered in blood. He was so busy trying to keep the world from spinning that he didn’t even realise that he’d cut his leg during his fall.

It’s only now that Mark has seen the wound that he becomes aware of the pain. It feels as though someone is pressing a thousand tiny needles into it. By the looks of it, his wound needs cleaning. A wet napkin probably isn’t going to be enough.

‘That’s not good, is it?’ he gulps.

Howard can’t possibly say. He doesn’t know much about injuries. But if the wound is preventing Mark from walking, they could be here for a while yet, especially now that the sun has gone down and there aren’t any footprints to guide them back to the car. Not to mention the fact that he and Gary were in the middle of quite an important conversation when they heard Mark shout out.

If he and Gary were alone and they were at home, unharmed, Howard would tell Gary that he loves him too and that his confession came to him like sunshine on a rainy day. He’d throw his arms around him and hold him like there was no tomorrow. He’d kiss Gary hard against a wall, not caring one bit that a relationship could herald the end of the band. He might even invite Mark to kiss him too.

But talking about his feelings is not his priority right now. Mark is. They need to get him somewhere sheltered and safe before his injuries worsen.

Howard turns to Mark. ‘You’ve been in the forest longer than we have. Did you see any houses anywhere? A farm?’

Mark shakes his head. It hurts. Underneath his coat, every part of his body is blooming with bruises. ‘I – I don’t know.’

‘You must have seen something,’ Howard says.

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. He vaguely remembers seeing a bright light before he fell and hit his head, and a cabin appearing and disappearing in the shadows. ‘I – I think I may have seen a cabin somewhere. A wooden one.’

Howard’s heartrate increases. They may have found shelter! ‘Where did you see this cabin? Can you remember what it looked like? Was someone inside it?’

‘I was running when I saw it,’ Mark says slowly. His pulse is banging painfully against his temple, and it’s hard to think. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t remember anything.’

Howard’s shoulders sag. ‘Are you sure? You must remember something.’

‘Um. Guys?’ Gary’s voice cuts through the dark. He’s standing a couple of metres away, staring into the distance at something. ‘Guys, you have to see this.’

Howard ignores him. ‘Mark. The cabin – was it made of wood? Was it big? Was it next to a road somewhere?’

Mark has to squeeze his eyes shut when he feels another stab of pain in his temple. He can barely make sense of where he is, let alone remember a cabin he thinks he saw before he hit his head on a rock. ‘I don’t know, Howard. I’m sorry. I don’t even know whether the cabin was really there. I saw a lot of things in the woods that turned out to be just trees.’

‘Guys.’

Gary’s shout for his friends’ attention is so loud that his voice echoes in the dark. Howard has half a mind to tell Gary that whatever he wants to say can wait, but then he sees what Gary is staring at. His jaw drops. He swears a couple of times very loudly.

Mark almost falls off his tree stump.

A couple of feet away, a wooden cabin has just appeared.

It’s the most awesome thing they’ve ever seen. The cabin – which definitely wasn’t there three seconds ago, Howard thinks to himself – is hidden behind a wall of trees, easily missed. It’s completely made out of brown logs and wood. A carpet of moss covers its pointed roof. A trail made of pebbles leads up to it. The cabin is small: about the size of a classroom, perhaps a little bigger. Blue curtains frame the windows. Next to the cabin, half-buried in leaves, stands a wooden bench. The cabin has a chimney, but no smoke is coming out of it.

The lights inside the cabin are off, and yet it’s the most welcoming sight Howard has ever seen. Apart from the wooden bench next to the door, covered in leaves, rotting in places, the cabin looks suspiciously immaculate, like it was literally made only moments ago.

But that’s not possible, Howard thinks. Or is it?

‘Did . . . you guys notice that cabin before?’ Howard looks at his bandmates, who are equally flabbergasted. ‘Mark? Gaz? Please tell me that was there before.’

‘I didn’t notice it before either,’ Gary says.

‘Neither did I,’ Mark whispers. ‘It just . . . showed up.’

Gary scratches the back of his head. He feels the clouds of darkness that hang over his head starting to lift a little. A wooden cabin seems like a much nicer place to talk about your feelings than a forest. ‘Do you reckon someone’s using it? We could spend the night there.’

‘What if there’s someone there already?’ says Howard. ‘I don’t want to get brutally murdered in me sleep.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Mark says from his tree stump. His pain has somewhat faded seeing the cabin in front of him. ‘We all saw the cabin suddenly appearing. What if it showed up for a reason? What if it’s there for us?’

Howard snorts. ‘You say that like it’s magical or something.’

‘It could be.’

Though the idea of a wooden cabin magically appearing from thin air is absolutely ridiculous on paper, Howard and Gary can both see what Mark’s getting at. Ever since they got here, they’ve all had the strange sensation that the forest is filled with something untouchable – something potentially magical, like a cabin showing up right when they needed it.

And what other choice do they have, anyway? Right now, the cabin is the only potential shelter they have. They have to check it out.

‘I’m going to have a look,’ Gary says bravely even though he’s quite scared. The cabin could be a trap set by a hater of boy bands for all he knows. He turns to his bandmates, who look as scared as he feels. ‘Stay here for me, will you?’

Gary makes a movement to head closer to the cabin, alone, when he feels Howard’s fingers suddenly grazing his own.

Howard hesitates for a second, then gives Gary’s right hand a reassuring squeeze. While he’s still conflicted as fuck about Gary fancying him (and Mark), he’s not about to let his best mate walk into a wooden cabin alone.

Besides, he wouldn’t mind sharing a cabin with his bandmates.

‘Together,’ Howard says, and every fear that Gary had about Howard hating him disappears through his fingertips. The conversation they had, Gary’s confession, Howard’s response . . . they all fade away as Howard smiles at him.

‘You know, in case there’s an axe-bearing murderer in there after all,’ Howard goes on. ‘I know quite a few people who probably wouldn’t mind getting rid of a band as successful as us. Boyzone, Westlife . . .’ ‘Westlife wouldn’t kill us with an axe, though,’ Gary points out.

‘Stools, then. But I’m not lettin’ you in there alone, all right?’

‘All right.’ Gary nods once. He feels his chest blooming with hope as he feels Howard’s thumb rubbing his hand and warming him up inside. ‘Together.’

If Mark could jump for joy at seeing his mates touching hands, he would. But he can’t, because he’s in terrible pain and his body would probably bend over double if he so much tried to get off his tree stump.

‘You know I’d love to join you guys,’ Mark says as much, ‘but I’m still seeing double and me leg feels like someone fed it to a shark. It’s very annoying. There’s two of everything.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Gary says. ‘You just stay there, all right?’

‘Got it,’ Mark says. It’s not as if he was going to stop his mates from having another moment alone anyway. He’s not sure what happened while he was unconscious, but it’s quite obvious that sparks were flying when Howard grabbed Gary’s hand just now. If they haven’t fallen in love already, they must be getting pretty close to doing so.

Hand in hand, Howard and Gary start towards the front door of the log cabin. It’s not a long walk: just a couple of metres from Mark’s tree stump. There’s a pebble path leading up to it, so there’s no way they’ll get lost. Even from the front door, Gary can still see Mark giving them an encouraging thumbs-up.

Howard glances at Gary. ‘Ready?’

Gary sucks in a breath. ‘Ready.’

Howard takes a deep breath and curls his hand into a fist. When he then raises a fist to knock on the door, the door swings open before he can do anything, like magic. He didn’t even get the chance to knock.

Gary stares into the open door of the cabin with eyes as big as saucers. ‘Did that just open on its own?’ He turns to Howard. ‘Did you do that?’

‘I didn’t do anything,’ Howard says. He sounds a little afraid. He gives Gary’s hand an encouraging squeeze – be brave – and they step over the threshold, together.

It’s like they’ve stepped into the sun. The cabin is pleasant, not cold and dark like the forest that surrounds it. The lights are on – they weren’t before. The cabin is composed of just one small room: a cosy living room area with a comfortable plaid sofa. In front of the sofa, there’s a wooden living room table that has a vase of fresh flowers on top of it. The cabin has a fireplace, though no fire is burning. Paintings of cute dogs in woodland sceneries cover the wooden walls. On the opposite end of the room, in front of the fireplace, there’s a wooden bookcase with as many as a hundred books.

In spite of the cabin’s dark surroundings, nothing about its inside is scary. There are no axe-wielding murderers. There are no trip wires. Apart from the blue flowers in the vase, everything inside the cabin has the same brown colour, making it look inviting and warm. It’s almost as if the room was made just for them; a special cabin, made by magic.

Although they’re obviously the only ones here, Howard still looks underneath the sofa to see if there’s someone there. The space underneath the sofa is empty – and surprisingly clean. He even goes as far as running his finger across the top of a cupboard after he’s checked the flower pot for cameras.

‘I don’t get it,’ Howard says. His thoughts are whizzing through his brain as he tries to make sense of everything. ‘This place is spotless. How can a cabin in the woods be this clean? Your shoes didn’t even leave any marks.’

Gary looks at the wooden floor. Having been walking in a muddy forest for the past two hours, you’d think his shoes would leave a mud track on the floor. As it is, the floor is absolutely spotless. His shoes – white trainers – look brand new.

‘Jeez, that’s weird, that is,’ Gary says. He lifts up his left foot to make sure he isn’t seeing things. There isn’t a single speck of mud on the underside of his trainers, and he’s pretty sure he didn’t wipe his shoes before walking in here. The house has magically wiped his shoes clean.

Even Gary’s blanket looks spotless. He takes it off and hangs it over a coat hanger next to the front door. ‘I could do with a magic shoe wiper in me own house, to be honest.’

‘So you agree with Mark, then? This cabin is magical or whatever?’

‘You saw it yourself,’ Gary says. He furrows his brow. ‘The cabin wasn’t even here two minutes ago. It’s not like someone actually built it when we had our backs to it. It even smells new.’

‘Smells more like petrol to me,’ Howard says, sniffing his nose. ‘It reminds me of when I filmed the first episode of Mission Ignition.’

‘That’s funny, cos the cabin smells like a brand new keyboard to me.’

Gary isn’t being funny: the cabin genuinely smells like a brand new keyboard to him. It’s the same smell you get when you get a new keyboard delivered at home and you open the box and everything smells like it just left the factory.

‘So the cabin smells different for everyone?’ Howard says.

‘Guess so.’

‘That’s fucking weird.’

‘Not as weird as those books,’ Gary says, gesturing at the bookcase at the other end of the room. Weirdly enough, the spines of the books have no titles on them.

He starts towards the bookcase and picks up a random book. He comes away with a cook book written by one of his favourite cooks. The next book he picks up is a Star Wars encyclopaedia, one of those big books with lots of illustrations and geeky facts in them. The third book is an Elton John biography. How odd.

Exploring the room further, he finds lots of other things that seem to be there just for them: a photo frame filled with a picture of Howard’s dream car; a hat stand for Mark; jars filled with linseed, porridge and nuts for Gary in a supplies cupboard. You’d almost think the cabin was built by a crazy fan with too much time on their hands, except their fans probably aren’t capable of making cabins magically appear. Their fans are capable of much, but not that.

‘Do you think there’s a foldable bed somewhere?’ Gary thinks out loud as he opens another cupboard. More jars. ‘I reckon Mark could do with a nap, he’s been through so much.’

‘Well, there is now,’ Howard says flatly. ‘Look.’

Gary turns around. He has to wipe his eyes to make sure he isn’t seeing things.

Where there was previously a bookcase filled with books about food, Star Wars and Elton John, a door has appeared. An actual door, leading into a small bedroom with a single bed, a bedside cabinet and a wardrobe.

It definitely wasn’t there two seconds ago.

Just like the rest of the cabin, everything in the bedroom is made of wood. Blue curtains cover the windows. There’s a clock on the wall and a single ceiling lamp. The bedsheets are grey-brown, and a woollen blanket has been draped across a chair next to the bed. As far as bedrooms go, it’s not bad.

But that’s not all. The bedroom also has an ensuite bathroom.

The lads cautiously walk into it. Equipped with a wooden shower and a marble basin and toilet, the bathroom looks like something out of a Scandinavian five-star hotel. It even has three white towels hanging from a metal rack on the wall.

Howard and Gary stare into the bathroom dumbstruck. The shower is big enough for two or three people, and for a precious, terrible, awful, disgusting second Gary accidentally pictures Howard soaping up his prick.

Thankfully, Howard has not yet developed mind-reading skills, and he’s too impressed by the cabin to care about Gary’s bathroom fantasies anyway. ‘What do you reckon would happen if I wished for a car?’

‘I don’t think it works that way,’ Gary mumbles. If the cabin’s powers were indeed based on wishes, then Howard would be quite naked right now.

‘Then how the fuck does it work? Bathrooms don’t suddenly bloody pop up, Gaz.’ Howard groans in frustration. ‘Whatever. I’m out of here.’

Howard quickly closes the door because a bathroom suddenly appearing out of thin air is just bloody weird. But when he turns around, he gets the fright of his life. The bed has turned into a double bed – a bloody big one with four pillows and a metal headframe. It was made of wood just seconds ago.

Howard gives Gary a look of perplexed anger. ‘Gaz. Stop wishing for things.’

‘That wasn’t me, that wasn’t,’ Gary says, though as the words leave his mouth he can actually feel himself doubting them. He looks at the bed and then at Howard, and an uncomfortable truth passes between them.

Finding Mark and stumbling head-first into a magical wooden cabin has changed nothing. Gary still fancies Howard. And Mark. Problem is, he has no idea what to do about it. He and Howard left their conversation so abruptly that he still doesn’t know how Howard feels about him. Is the bed changing a sign of better things to come or is it just the universe mocking him?

Gary’s questions are wiped from his mind when the sound of footsteps makes him start. He turns around to see Mark standing in the doorway of the bedroom, left hand clutching the doorframe, the other hand pressed against his calve. He’s panting. He looks like he’s been running, or attempting to anyway. His face is covered in sweat.

‘I – I don’t feel so well,’ he squeaks, and Howard can catch Mark from falling right on time. He’s fainted; the wounds on his calve seem to have worsened.

Howard is the one calling the shots again. Whilst a frozen Gary is still staring at Mark’s pale face, Howard has already started carrying their unconscious mate to the bed. ‘Gaz. Check the bathroom. See if you can find a first aid kit somewhere. Now.’

Gary stirs awake. Shaken, he heads into the ensuite bathroom and starts opening every cupboard he can find. Sure enough, he finds a first aid kit on top of a medicine cabinet. Gary’s pretty sure the cabinet wasn’t there earlier, but he’s not about to question it.

Unsurprisingly, the first aid kit contains every piece of medical equipment the lads could possibly need. After just ten minutes, Mark’s already looking a lot better: he’s stopped sweating, and his calve has been wrapped entirely in bandages. There’s a big plaster on his temple.

Mark wakes when the lads are in the middle of tucking him in. ‘Ow.’ He lifts his head so Gary can shove a pillow behind his bed. It hurts. His leg feels strangely tight, like someone wrapped it like a mummy. ‘What happened?’

‘You fainted,’ Howard says, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing his hand on Mark’s shoulder. ‘You lost quite a lot of blood just now. But you’re okay now. Right, Gaz?’

Gary nods. He still feels too awkward around his bandmates to touch Mark on the shoulder like that, so he keeps his hands firmly in his own lap. ‘You should get some rest. Sleep it off.’

‘Will you stay close?’ Mark sounds weak.

‘Of course,’ Howard says. He gets up from the bed and leaves one of his remaining granola bars on Mark’s bedside table alongside the bottle of water he found in the car. ‘We’ll be in the living room.’

Mark smiles faintly. ‘Thank you, guys.’ And his eyes flutter closed.

Howard and Gary leave the bedroom to let their friend get some rest. As they close the bedroom door and head into the living room area, they find that the cabin has gone through another transformation. There’s now a fire burning in the hearth.

Howard rolls his eyes. ‘Let me guess. That wasn’t you?’

‘Nope. That started on its own, that fire did.’

Howard’s too tired to question this. He sits himself down on the brown Chesterfield sofa and takes a moment to catch his breath. He swears that the sofa was a lot bigger when they first got here.

Gary reluctantly sits next to him, too afraid to move in case their bodies touch, but Howard doesn’t really seem to care. He sits with his legs spread, right knee touching Gary’s left, hands clasped in his lap. He stares vacantly at the ceiling, crisscrossed with wooden beams from left to right.

It’s hard to find the right words under these circumstances. Should they talk about Gary’s confession now or should they wait until they return to London? It almost seems wrong, talking about love when their best friend is asleep next door. Then again, Howard doesn’t really want to wait either. He wants to talk now. Not tomorrow or next week or in a couple of months, but right here. He wants to confess his feelings like Gary did previously, so bravely and strongly.

Howard looks to his right to see Gary staring a hole into the flower vase on the living room table. He looks tired. His eyes are red. He’s trembling. It’s not the best moment to talk about your feelings to be honest, but waiting seems a lot worse.

‘We should probably talk,’ Howard says as much. He says it as gently as he can, but it hits Gary like a stab in the heart. He doesn’t want to talk. Ever. He wants Howard to forget he ever said anything.

‘I’m really not up for it, mate,’ Gary says. There’s a filmy sheen over his eyes that he has to blink away.

‘Don’t you want to hear what I have to say, though?’

Not really, Gary thinks. What else is there to say? Gary loves Howard and Mark, Howard doesn’t love him back, Mark’s unconscious, they’re inside a fantastical wooden cabin, life is terrible, the band is over, end of story.

‘I don’t need you remindin’ me that I’m in love with two people who’ll never like me back,’ Gary sniffs miserably, trying hard to act like he isn’t on the verge of tears. He wishes a hole would materialise inside the cabin so he could jump right into it.

Thankfully, the only thing the cabin seems to do is dim the lights. (No, seriously – the lights have dimmed. This cabin ships Howard and Gary hard.) The temperature seems to rise, and Howard is forced to take off his coat. All is quiet; even the woods that surround them are still. The sofa has undergone a miniscule change: it’s shrunk three inches, forcing the lads to move even closer together.

Howard has changed too. He’s no longer afraid. He gives Gary the kindest and warmest smile he can muster up, and everything changes. Forever. ‘What if I told you I’m in love with you too?’

Gary gives a snort of incredulous laughter. ‘Very funny, How.’ He takes off his summer jacket and drapes it over the armrest to his left. It wasn’t this hot two minutes ago, he thinks.

‘I’m serious, Gaz. I like you.’

‘You’re just joking to mess with me,’ Gary whispers. He’s no longer laughing now. He’s upset.

‘I’m not, I swear.’

Gary’s heart skips a beat when Howard grabs his hands then. Howard’s face has gone uncharacteristically solemn and serious, and seeing it gives Gary pause. His face goes warm all over. He begins to doubt himself. His heart . . . he’s not sure if his heart is still beating, to be honest. Seeing Howard looking at him like this . . . so seriously, so warmly . . . could Howard love him after all? It hardly seems possible.

It’s not possible. He looks away.

‘Look at me, Gaz,’ Howard says. ‘Please.’

Gary does. He meets his friend’s gaze with all the courage he can gather up and immediately looks away again, like a child. He decides to stare at the front door instead – hoping, almost, that the cabin will suddenly materialise in the middle of London and he can go home again.

For when he gets home, Gary won’t have to worry about having Howard looking at him in a way that he doesn’t recognise. He won’t have to worry about Mark being injured. He won’t have to play Howard’s words in his head over and over and over again like a broken record.

‘I mean it, Gaz,’ Howard goes on. He keeps trying. He gives Gary’s hands the softest squeeze. ‘I really like you.’

Gary lets out a weak laugh. Is this what Howard felt like when he admitted that he has feelings for him? Is this what love is supposed to feel like, like the Earth crumbling underneath your feet? Because if this is what love feels like, he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to lose Howard just for the sake of fancying him.

‘No,’ he whispers. He shakes his head a couple of times. ‘You’re just lying,’ he says again, like a record stuck on repeat, even though he can see that that’s a lie in itself.

For inside his heart, hidden away so deeply that he can barely reach it, Gary knows that Howard is telling him the truth. He can feel it, just like how he felt the air buzzing with magic the moment he stepped out of the car. He can see it in Howard’s eyes, more terrified than Gary has ever seen them. He can feel it in the way Howard’s hands tremble in his own. He can even smell it: the air no longer smells of brand new keyboards straight from the factory, but of Howard. If the cabin were any more tuned in to his thoughts, all the pictures of dogs on the walls would change into pictures of Howard just to taunt him.

However. He knows that Howard doesn’t like men. And even if he did, Howard probably wouldn’t be into men like him. Howard likes brunettes. Howard likes . . . actually, Gary doesn’t know what Howard is into. But he’s definitely not into geeky blonds who only talk about Star Wars and keyboard.

‘Y-you’re just saying this to make me feel better,’ Gary says, still in denial. ‘I d-don’t believe you. You’re l-lying.’

‘Then let me prove it to you,’ Howard whispers, and he does the single most courageous thing he’s ever done.

He cups Gary’s face and kisses him.

The world changes in an instant. Not through magic or witchcraft, but through love. It’s not magic that makes heat creep up under Gary’s collar, but Howard’s lips sending an electric jolt of pleasure through his heart.

Gary returns the kiss immediately. Somewhere in between opening his mouth to meet Howard’s tongue, he whispers something filthy; a swear word; a quick consent to tell Howard that he wants this. If they were more alone than this, not in a wooden cabin tucked away in the dark, they’d quickly be doing a lot more than just kissing.

It’s easily the best kiss Gary’s ever had. The way Howard tastes is out of this world. His touches are soft. Even Howard’s soft moans are like magic, making Gary want to take off their clothes as they deepen their kiss.

Quite conveniently, their Chesterfield sofa has turned into a loveseat. The lights are off. The temperature has become so suddenly hot that Gary’s almost tricked into believing they’re experiencing their first kiss in summer, not autumn.

The living room briefly reappears when Gary has to stop kissing Howard to catch his breath. When he opens his eyes, he sees his best mate looking back at him in a way he’s never seen before. Hungry, is probably the way he’d describe it. Needy. Gary knows he isn’t the first person to receive that look, and he probably won’t be the last, but it doesn’t stop it from being any less special. The fact that Howard is looking at him like that – Jesus.

‘Do you believe me now, Gaz?’ Howard says.

‘Yes. Jesus, yes.’

‘Good.’ Howard smiles at him then, and their lips lock once more. The temperature rises as Howard pulls Gary as close as it’s possible to do. Gary’s jacket has fallen on the floor. Howard’s mouth finds a sensitive spot on his neck. Gary’s hands clutch the material of Howard’s striped jumper, desperate to take it off of him – and then he remembers Mark.

Gary stops all of a sudden. Gasping, he pushes Howard away from him. The lights have turned back on without him noticing.

‘I – I can’t,’ Gary stutters even though he loved that kiss. He glances in the direction of the bedroom door, and Howard understands right away.

‘You still like Mark,’ Howard says. He doesn’t sound judgmental or upset: he says it like he is merely stating a fact. Gary still likes Mark, fact.

Gary nods sheepishly. ‘I can’t really snog you while I still fancy Mark, can I? Even though your kisses are bloody good, How. Jesus.’

Gary puts his fingers to his own lips. He genuinely loved that kiss, so very much, but he doesn’t see how he can snog Howard whilst Mark is still in the room next door. Asleep. And even if Mark loves him in That way too, Gary can’t have the both of best worlds. It’d only lead to the band breaking up, or worse. Mark may have been supportive in his feelings for Howard, but he may not feel as supportive when he finds out Gary likes him too.

‘What a mess,’ Gary thinks out loud. ‘I feel like I’ve ended up in one of those terrible films with love triangles in them. I bloody hate love triangles. Imagine if the new Star Wars movie ended up having a love triangle? I’d walk out of the cinema.’

Howard chuckles at Gary’s Star Wars mention, then sobers when Gary shoots him a hurt look. Apparently Gary’s way of talking about his feelings is by . . . talking about love triangles in Star Wars? You learn something new every day. ‘If you were one of those characters, what would you do?’

‘I don’t know. That’s the problem. Cos don’t get me wrong, How, that was the best kiss I’ve ever had, that, and I’m bloody thrilled that you like me, but I don’t wanna lose Mark by picking you. And that’s assuming he even likes me.’ Gary lets out a frustrated groan. His head hurts. He’s supposed to be happy that Howard just kissed him, and yet all he can think about is whether Mark would taste just as good. ‘I don’t wanna choose you and hurt Mark as a result. Or the other way round, for that matter. Christ, this is awful.’

Howard can tell that Gary’s spiralled into a dark mood. It almost hurts him looking at him. ‘Permission to kiss you even though you still fancy Mark, Gaz?’

Gary nods, and he’s rewarded with such a soft kiss on his right cheek that he almost melts. He has to take deep breaths to stop himself from having a panic attack, and they don’t say anything for a couple of minutes while Gary tries to catch his breath. The only sound in the cabin is that of the howling wind making the walls creak softly.

‘You say you don’t want to hurt Mark by choosing me,’ Howard goes on once Gary looks a bit calmer. He gently rubs Gary’s knee up and down. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I don’t know how I can put it any simpler than that,’ Gary sighs. ‘If I choose you, that means I won’t be choosing Mark. And if it turns out he likes me back after all – then that’ll bloody hurt him, that will.’

‘Who says you have to choose, though?’ Howard says. ‘I’m not going to tell you to stop fancyin’ Mark just cos you’ve been snoggin’ me. Why not snog us both?’

Gary snorts. Snog Howard and Mark both? That’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

‘How the fuck am I supposed to snog two people at the same time? I can’t bloody clone meself,’ Gary retorts.

‘I don’t mean physically snogging two people at the same time.’

Gary furrows his brow. ‘Then what do you mean?’

‘I mean, why don’t we try having a relationship with all three of us? You know, this . . . thing where all three of us are okay with us dating each other. So what we already do as a band basically, but with more kissing.’

Maybe Howard’s still high from their otherwise amazing kiss, but he’s not making any sense right now. How the fuck are they supposed to date each other when Howard doesn’t even like Mark?

‘I think a three-person relationship only works out when you all actually fancy each other,’ Gary points out. ‘You don’t like Mark, remember?’

‘I do, though,’ Howard shrugs.

Gary laughs out loud. He must be going deaf; it was bound to happen one day – he’s a popstar, after all, and he never bothered to wear earplugs when he went clubbing in the nineties. ‘Very funny, How.’

‘No, I’m serious. I’m attracted to Mark,’ Howard says. ‘I’m not sure if I fancy him as hard as you do, Gaz, but I have looked at Mark and thought, yeah, I’ll have some of that.’ He thinks about it for a second. Then he adds, ‘Actually, fuck that. I do fancy him hard. Merry Christmas?’

The news that Howard likes Mark too comes as such a shock that Gary’s eyes have become as big as dinner plates

‘You okay, Gaz?’

Gary shakes his head a couple of times in shock. Now he gets why Howard responded so weirdly when he admitted to liking Mark an hour ago – Howard likes Mark too!

‘I can’t believe this,’ Gary stammers, his mouth curling into a smile. ‘How weird is this, the both of us fancying Mark and each other too? Jesus. Do you think New Kids On The Block ever had to deal with stuff like this?’

‘New Kids are nowhere near as handsome as us, so probably not.’

Gary shakes his head again. Howard likes him. And Mark. He likes both of them. And Gary likes both of his bandmates too. This is easily the best and weirdest day of his life.

But will Mark feel the same?

‘What do we do?’ Gary runs his hands through his hair. Knowing that Howard likes him and Mark is one thing, but the next step seems like a big leap into the dark. ‘I do like the idea of the three of us having a relationship, How, but what are we ever going to tell Mark? We don’t even know if he likes us. He might not even be into men.’

‘Mark wore a sparkly catsuit on tour nine years ago,’ Howard says. He kisses Gary softly on the neck and whispers the rest of his words into his ear, tickling him there. ‘He likes men, believe me. We could talk him into wearing that thing again for us, just for shits. Bet it's a bitch to get out of, though . . .’

Gary rolls his eyes. Trust Howard to become a needy slag only two minutes after they’ve snogged. ‘That doesn’t answer me question, Dougie. How are we going to tell Mark?’

‘Tell me what?’

Howard and Gary turn their heads at the same time. Standing in the doorway of the bedroom, there’s Mark: happy, healthy, awake and . . . wearing pyjamas?

‘Where the fuck did you find those?’ Howard asks.

‘You mean these pyjamas?’ Mark looks down at what he’s wearing: blue pyjamas made of silk. They’re very comfortable. .) ‘I found them on the bedside cabinet when I woke up. I thought you guys had left them there.’

‘Yeah, no, that was the cabin, that was,’ Gary says.

Mark frowns a way that only makes him look annoyingly more adorable. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The cabin is magical,’ Howard says. He rolls his eyes.

‘You were right, basically,’ Gary explains. ‘The cabin showed up just for us. Every time you want something, the cabin more or less gives it to you, is what this place does. Most of the time, anyway. There wasn’t even a bedroom twenty minutes ago.’

‘Oh. So that’s why the pyjamas have me name on them.’ Mark points at an embroidered “Mark Owen” on his right chest pocket. ‘I did think that was a bit strange. Also, can you smell dogs? The cabin kind of smells of me dogs.’

Howard shrugs. ‘I just smell cars. I think it’s different for everyone.’

‘Keyboards for me,’ Gary lies. The cabin has smelled overwhelmingly of Howard ever since they kissed. ‘How are you, by the way, Marko? You look a lot more awake than you did half an hour ago.’

‘I’m much better, yeah. I don’t feel so dizzy anymore, anyway. Me leg still hurts, but that’s about it. I just need to be careful when walking – that’s when it hurts the most.’ Mark gestures at the sofa. ‘May I?’

Howard and Gary both nod. Mark starts slowly towards the Chesterfield sofa, which has grown considerably in the past three minutes. The clothes he was wearing earlier – his grey coat, striped jumper and trousers – have all found their way to the coat hanger next to the door even though he could have sworn he took them off next to the bed. Strangely, his trousers are spotless.

It’s all a bit weird, this cabin, but Mark doesn’t want to look a gifted horse in the mouth. He carefully sits himself down next to his mates and smiles at them both.

‘So what did you wanna tell me about, then? You must have done quite a lot of talking while I was gone,’ Mark says, meaning, “kissing”. He has to readjust his position when he feels the wound on his calve brushing painfully against the underside of the sofa. The lads did quite a decent job wrapping his leg in bandages, but it still hurts.

Howard and Gary exchange a conspiratorial glance. Howard gives Gary a nudge with his elbow: you do the talking. Gary clears his throat. ‘About that, Mark . . .’

Gary searches his brain for the correct words. He wishes the bizarre bookcase with the titleless spines was still in the room; it might have contained a self-help book with tips about relationships. He’s not quite sure how he’s supposed to tell his crush that he’s already been snogging his other crush but that he’d rather be snogging, well, both of them. At the same time. What a bloody mess.

‘Remember . . . how I told you that I fancy Howard?’

Mark nods enthusiastically. ‘Of course I remember!’ Then he looks at Howard. ‘Has he told you? He’s told you, hasn’t he? You must be so pleased. How did you respond? Please tell me you’ve kissed, How.’

Howard deliberately says nothing. Gary turns a bit red next to him. ‘Mark, we’ve . . . Howard and me, we’ve – we’ve snogged, we have. We’ve just had our first kiss.’

Mark face turns into one big grin. ‘THAT’S WONDERFUL,’ he cries nearly loudly enough to give himself another headache, and he kisses both of his bandmates on the cheek because that’s a totally heterosexual way to congratulate your friend’s miraculous coupling. Howard and Gary both end up looking quite bewildered in the process, which . . . is bloody odd actually, Mark thinks to himself. Shouldn’t the two of them be thrilled that they’ve finally snogged? Mark was expecting a lot more hand-holding and cuddling and potentially walking into his bandmates getting naked.

‘If you’ve been snogging, then why do you guys look so serious?’ Mark searches the living room for clues as to what might have happened while he was sleeping, but the only thing that seems to have changed is that the sofa has become bigger. There’s also the fact that Gary’s jacket is lying on the floor for some reason and that his shirt is creased. They’ve definitely done a bit more than snogging – so why do they look so serious? ‘Did something happen? Have I missed something? Please tell me you’re a couple now. You both look nowhere near as pleased as you should, you know. What happened?’

‘Well.’ Gary clears his throat. If his face could become any redder, he’d turn into a big tomato plant. ‘Howard isn’t the only person I like. I told you that, remember? There’s someone else I wanna be with. A guy.’

‘I know that, but it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?’ Mark points out. ‘You’re with Howard now. You don’t have to worry about the other guy anymore.’

‘That’s the problem. The other guy . . . It’s you, Mark.’

Mark blinks a couple of times very quickly. His lips curl into an uncertain smile. ‘What?’

‘I like you, Mark,’ says Gary.

‘If it helps, I fancy you too,’ Howard shrugs.

Mark snorts. It sounds so ridiculous, and yet his bandmates telling Mark that they like him is the only thing that’s made sense all day. He believes them instantly.

‘Oh my word.’ Mark’s grinning like an idiot. He’s bloody thrilled. ‘You both like me?’

‘Pretty much, mate,’ Gary says.

Howard just nods.

Mark’s grin becomes even wider. He feels like the happiest person on Earth – for now. ‘Wow. This is just wonderful, isn’t it? Cos I’ve never told you this, but I actually fancy the both of you too, you know. That is, I didn’t really realise it until I got lost today, but I do fancy you. Both of you. Especially you, Gaz – I fancied you like mad in the nineties. I never really did anything about it, though, cos I always thought the two of you were pretty perfect together and I was already dating Rob at the time, anyway.’

Mark says all of this so quickly that it takes a second for the words to reach Gary’s consciousness. But when they do, the main thing that sticks out is the fact that Mark’s just said that he used to be with Rob.

‘Wait. You used to date Rob, Mark?’ Gary’s eyebrows have almost reached the wooden ceiling.

‘I did in the nineties, yes. It didn’t last very long, unfortunately. We weren’t really in a good place at the time and it was difficult to meet up because we were both busy with our solo stuff. We had no choice but to end it, I’m afraid.’ Mark doesn’t add that nearly all the relationships he’s had since stranded because of how bad he was at being a boyfriend. ‘It was fun while it lasted, though.’

Howard jabs Gary’s arm with his elbow. ‘See? Sparkly catsuit.’

For already the dozenth time that day, Gary has been rendered absolutely speechless. How many unexpected things has he learned today? It’s almost too many to mention. One, their brand new Suzuki Vitara is a piece of crap. Two, Howard likes him. Three, magic exists, apparently. Four, Howard likes Mark. Five, Howard is a fucking good kisser. Six, Mark likes him and Howard. Seven, Mark has dated Robbie. And potentially had sex with him. Jesus.

‘That’s a bit of a bombshell you’ve dropped there, Marko,’ Gary says. Like Howard, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

‘I know. But the important thing is, I like you guys too. Very much. I wish we’d told each other sooner! Then I would just have stayed in the car earlier instead of getting lost. I could have snogged you, Mr Barlow.’

Gary lets out a giddy laugh at the mention of Mark snogging him. Howard’s idea about the three of them having a loving relationship doesn’t seem so weird now. In fact, it almost seems rather realistic.

‘Now that we know that we all like each other . . .’ Gary shares a knowing look with Howard. He clears his throat. ‘Howard and I were actually wondering if you might, er, try having a relationship with us? I know it’s probably a bit soon given that we’ve only just found out that we fancy each other, but the idea of dating the both of you has been on me mind for a while, to be honest.’

‘And mine,’ Howard adds.

The mention of a relationship makes Mark’s smile fade. The happiness he felt earlier burns to a crisp. ‘You mean a relationship with . . . the both of you?’

Howard and Gary both nod, and Mark’s heart sinks into his shoes. His mouth goes dry; he’s never considered dating two people at the same time before, and for a good reason. He can’t even date one person without someone getting hurt.

Don’t get this wrong: Mark loves his bandmates. He loves them more than he has ever loved anyone, and he wouldn’t mind snogging them. Snogging is fun. Snogging is uncomplicated. Snogging is something that won’t ever have any repercussions because no-one will find out about it anyway. But actually having a relationship with Howard and Gaz? As in, dating them? Simultaneously? That’s just asking for trouble. It’s something he cannot ever do.

Mark feels dizzy suddenly. The idea of being in a three-person relationship inspires so much fear inside of him that he feels a sharp stab of pain where he hit his head. Everything goes black for a second.

‘Mark, are you okay?’

Howard reaches out for his hand, and he turns away. Rejects him. A hundred scary thoughts flood his brain. Mark gets the overwhelming need to escape the living room, perhaps even leave the cabin completely.

‘I – I’m not sure if this is a good idea,’ he says. He puts his hand to his temple. ‘Oof. I – I think I need a moment alone,’ he mumbles, and he heads back to the bedroom before the lads can ask him what’s wrong. The door to the bedroom closes with a soft thud.

Howard and Gary look at each other.

‘What just happened?’ Gary says. ‘He seemed bloody thrilled a second ago.’

Howard bites the inside of his cheek. The door to the bedroom has begun to rot in places. ‘I wish I knew.’

***

In case it needed reminding: Mark loves his bandmates. He fancies them; likes them; wants to have sex with them, one day, if the lads want it too. He wants it all. But being in a relationship with someone is a bit different from daydreaming about them all day, and he doesn’t know how he’s ever supposed to be in a healthy relationship again when all the people he loved before left him.

Because he’s not a good boyfriend, Mark isn’t. He’s pretty good in bed, and he supposes he’s as supportive and warm as a lover can be, but that doesn’t make him a good partner. He’s hurt people. He broke his own heart and spirit by being a bit of an idiot, frankly. And he knows that all that stuff happened years ago, but still. He doesn’t see how he can ever be in a loving relationship with his two best mates if he doesn’t even know how to be faithful. It’s just asking for trouble.

So when Gary suggested having a relationship together, Mark died a little inside. It’s why he left the living room: he’d rather walk away from his fears than face them head-on.

The moment Mark leaves, things become a bit weird. Upon stepping into the bedroom and closing the door softly behind him, Mark finds that he’s not stepped inside the bedroom at all. The wooden floor of the bedroom has gone weirdly soft, not wood-like. He has to rub his eyes to make sure that he isn’t seeing double again.

It would appear that he’s stepped into the cold night air. As in, he’s entered the forest. The bedroom has vanished into thin air, leaving only grass and dirt in its place. What he thought was the bedroom door seems to have brought him to the other side of the cabin, where a wooden bench stands invitingly against the outer log wall, looking nowhere near as rotten as it once did. The cabin must have sensed Mark’s need to get away from the living room and brought him here.

Mark sits on the bench (now no longer covered in leaves), and a campfire appears in front of him. Literally. One moment the ground in front of the bench is covered with nothing but leaves, and then he blinks and there’s a fire burning. It looks weirdly safe too, with stones strewn all the way around the burning twigs; everything a safe distance away from the cabin. Apparently magical cabins are a sucker for health and safety.

Feeling calmer than he did, Mark tries to gather his thoughts whilst he stares into the fire. What does he know? He knows that they’re stranded. He knows that their chances of getting back to the car are pretty small. He knows that he’s injured his temple and that there’s a massive wound on his calve. His injuries hurt; more than any injury he’s ever had.

He also knows that he has a slight concussion and that he’s staying at a magical wooden cabin that changes according to his mood. On a scale from 1 to 10, with 10 being “fucking weird”, the cabin is probably a 5, maybe a 6 at most. You don’t perform The Garden sat on a mechanical elephant in a sold-out Wembley Stadium without believing at least a little bit in magic. But Howard and Gary fancying him whilst also fancying each other? That’s a 10 out of 10 on the scale of weirdness, frankly. Things like that don’t happen to people like him. Wonderful things like that only happen once in a lifetime, and he already had his fair share of wonderfulness since the band came back. Let Howard and Gary date each other, he thinks, and let me out of it.

And yet . . .

And yet. Would he really be so terrible at dating them? Would he really be so bad? Surely the fact that they’ve known each other for nearly thirty years would make things a little easier, or at least less confusing for everyone involved. They’d basically be doing what they already do as a band anyway, except with more kisses and maybe some sex thrown in if they’re all willing. That doesn’t sound so bad.

Right on cue, the door that Mark stepped out of opens. Out come his bandmates, looking for a moment rather disoriented and lost. Where did the bedroom go? Then they spot Mark sitting in front of the campfire, and relief washes over their faces. Gary gestures at the empty places on the bench.

‘May we?’

Mark nods, and his mates sit on either side of him, sandwiching him in. Gary’s instructed Howard not to bring up the whole “let’s all date each other” thing until Mark’s ready to talk, so they sit in silence for a while, watching the fire creating ever-changing red and orange shapes on the ground. All around them, they can hear sounds: a bird chirping in the distance, the campfire sputtering and sparking in front of them, an owl hooting from a tree.

It’s quite comforting, really, hearing the sound of the forest, reminding you that it’s alive and that you are too. It’s made Mark more curious, more eager to learn. What made that sound just now? Where is that owl hiding, the one that’s hooting away in a tree?

Mark’s brain comes up with more questions than he can answer. He will never know if the creatures he saw in the woods were really creatures or just shadows. He will never know which bird is filling the forest with its singsong right now. He will never know where this cabin came from and if it’s truly magical.

There are mysteries that are easier to unlock. The mystery of his own heart, for example, deciding that he’s never felt as comfortable as he does now, sat between his two bandmates. Is this what dating Howard and Gary would be like, he wonders? Would it be like being right where he needs to be, safe and sound, with no dark shadows to be afraid of and a dozen mysteries yet to be discovered and solved? Perhaps. Perhaps a relationship with his mates would be a bit like the forest: mysterious and scary, sometimes, but full of magic.

Mark takes a deep breath. He looks at the fire sending sparks into the evening air, and he feels a spark inside him too. ‘Guys, about what you told me just now – about us having a relationship . . .’

Howard and Gary both sit straighter. Mark can almost feel their eyes burning a hole into his skin. The late-night birdsong stops. All the animals in the trees have disappeared into the deeper depths of the forest to give them peace.

‘I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I think a part of me would really enjoy it because I obviously like you guys a lot and wouldn’t mind snogging you and all of that stuff, but I – I can’t help but wonder whether I’d actually be any good at it.’ Mark stops for a second. He stares at his own hands, bruised from when he fell. The back of his right hand is covered in a dozen tiny cuts, and he shivers just thinking about what his hand would look like if Howard or Gary held it. He goes on, ‘Cos I’m not really a great lover, you know. I’ve never been that good at having a relationship. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud. So to be honest I don’t really know how I’m going to love you when I can’t even love one person.’

‘But that was years ago,’ Gary says. ‘You’re better now. We all are.’

‘I know. But I’m never going to be perfect, am I? What if I mess it up? What if I’m the reason we split up again?’

‘You don’t have to be perfect,’ Howard says. ‘None of us are. I know fuck all about how to be a good boyfriend. But at least if we do really fuck it up, we won’t have to deal with it on our own. We’ll be picking up the pieces together. And we’d be able to write one hell of an anthem about it, anyway,’ he jests to make light of the situation, and the conversation immediately takes a different direction.

‘That could be our next number one single, that, a break-up song,’ Gary jokes. ‘Don’t know how our record label would take it, though. Our music’s usually so positive.’

‘You’re right,’ Howard says. ‘Maybe we should give the song away.’

‘You say that, but no-one’s gonna want it,’ Gary points out self-deprecatingly, and it elicits a weak chuckle from Mark.

‘Boyzone might,’ Howard says.

‘They’re spitting up, though.’

‘Are they?’

‘Yeah, they announced a farewell tour a couple of months ago.’

‘It won’t be as good as ours.’

‘No, it won’t,’ Gary says.

Mark looks fondly at his bandmates as they spend the next five minutes joking about Boyzone, break-up songs and crap farewell tours like they weren’t actually in the middle of a very serious. Mark can see what Howard and Gary are trying to do: they’re trying to cheer him up, and it’s working. He feels a lot better than he did, and more cheerful too.

But they still haven’t talked about how on Earth they’re supposed to have a relationship together.

He clears his throat. Howard and Gary both look at him, and the discussion about the Greatest Hits tour stops. ‘I really appreciate you guys tryin’ to cheer me up, you know, but . . . maybe we should go back to talking about relationships? ’

Gary laughs. ‘So you don’t wanna spend the rest of the night discussing whether we should have a big globe on stage like the one on the Odyssey cover?’

‘No. And yes.’

Gary shrugs as if to say, fair enough. ‘Basically what we were trying to say is, we’ve never been in a relationship like this either. We’ll literally be figuring things out as we go, just like we did when we came back as a band and we didn’t have a clue what our new music was going to sound like. It could be a disaster for all we know. But I don’t think it will be. Cos we’ve been through a lot of crap, we have. Worse things have happened to us than us falling in love with each other.’

‘Like your attempt at an acting career,’ Howard points out delicately.

‘Well, yes.’

‘And your second solo album.’

‘Don’t push it, mate.’

Mark laughs out loud at that, and he feels the heavy stone of uncertainty lifting from his chest. Gary’s right: it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t work out and they end up writing a big break-up song about it. They just need to be brave enough to try. All three of them. As long as they stick together, they’ll be the best boy band there ever was, whether they’re dating or not.

‘All right then. I guess I’ll try having a relationship with you two.’ Mark rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner, then smiles. (He’s changed his mind quickly, Howard thinks.) ‘But stop all the talk about farewell tours, please. I don’t have any hobbies apart from being in a band with you.’

‘So you agree?’ Gary can’t stop the grin from appearing on his face. He’s feeling happier than ever – happier even than when they got their first number one. ‘You’ll have a relationship with us? With the both of us?’

‘Once we’ve figured out how to do it, yes. One question, though.’

Gary nods. ‘Sure.’

‘If we start dating each other, does that mean we can finally go back to having just one dressing room on tour?’

Gary frowns. Howard just laughs.

‘That’s a weirdly specific thing to want to get out of this,’ Howard says. He was expecting a far more serious question given that Mark was saying he was deathly afraid of having a relationship just minutes ago.

Mark explains, ‘I just feel bad for the guys and girls who have to prepare our dressing rooms before the show. We’d need fewer people and time if we just shared, you know. There's no need to have separate rooms when we get together to eat before the show anyway.’ By the time Mark has finished his explanation, he’s gone bright red.

Gary snorts. He gives Howard a conspiratorial slap on the arm. ‘Listen to him, How – saying he wants to share a dressing room so we can save money on staff!’

‘I know,’ Howard says. ‘He could just say he wants to see us with our pants off.’

Mark rolls his eyes. ‘I could still decide to change me mind, you know.’

‘Better give you a reason not to, then,’ Howard says. He turns to his best mate. ‘Right, Gaz?’

Gary catches Howard’s drift. He grins. ‘Oh yeah. Shall I go first or do you want to, mate?’

Mark’s body gives an involuntary shiver when he sees Howard looking him up and down. He feels something stir deep inside of him; something wrong and dangerous. He never knew how much he wanted Howard to look at him like that before.

‘I think I’ll let you break the ice, Gaz,’ Howard decides finally.

‘You sure?’

Howard leans back into the wooden bench and grins. ‘Just don’t tire him out, will you?’

Mark never gets the chance to ask Howard what he means by that. He sees Gary leaning forward then, and the next thing he knows Gary is kissing him.

It’s gentler than he thought it would be. Slow, too – Gary takes his time rubbing his hand up and down his leg, stopping every now and then to squeeze him there.

Howard watches it all happen with a smirk on his face. It kind of turns Mark on, being watched. He pulls Gary closer. He makes the kiss harder. His own touches become quicker. He’s painfully aware of the cut on his head and leg, but he doesn’t care. He ignores the pain. He gently guides Gary’s hand higher up his thigh, and he’s suddenly glad he decided to put on the pair of pyjamas the cabin has given him; the silk material is so thin that he can feel every graze of Gary’s nervous fingers touching him like he’s not wearing anything at all.

Mark’s own touches are equally as good – so good that Gary’s head starts spinning like he’s on a merry-go-round. His legs turn into jelly. He feels so hot inside that he might as well melt. He squeezes Mark’s thigh where it almost meets his crotch, and Mark moans into his mouth because apparently Mark makes an awful lot of noise when he’s being kissed.

A lack of air forces Gary to break off the kiss. It’s funny how easily you forget to breathe when you have one of your best mates kissing you.

‘Jeez, Mark,’ is all Gary can say, and he and Mark laugh in that nervous “teenagers who’ve just had their first snog” kind of way. He shakes his head in stunned disbelief. He knew that his bandmates were never going to be that terrible at kissing given that they’ve obviously done quite a lot of it, but that was something else. ‘You could have warned me there, mate.’

‘Was he any good then, Gaz?’ Howard asks. He sounds a bit turned on to be honest.

‘Fuck, yes.’

‘Better than me?’

Mark turns to face him; a smug grin on his face, his pair of blue eyes innocence itself. Seeing Gary’s response to being snogged by him was clearly the confidence boost Mark needed. He moves his face inches from Howard’s and bites his bottom lip. ‘Why don’t you come and find out, Mr Donald?’

Their mouths touch. It only takes one second of contact for Howard to realise that Mark’s a much different kisser than Gary. Gary was at first nervous, but Mark instantly takes control. He clearly wants to prove himself. He’s quick. He slips his tongue into Howard’s mouth after just seconds, microseconds really, and Howard lets him because he can tell how much Mark wants him.

Cos he’s bloody into it, Mark is. He moans softly when he presses his bruised hands on Howard’s chest, clutching the black and white material of his friend’s jumper. Every now and then, his mouth finds its way to Howard’s neck, tickling him there with his stubble. He’s known Howard for ages, so there’s no need to take things slow. When you’ve loved someone for the past thirty years, you’re way past that “sweet first kiss” stage; that stage of a relationship where you’re a bit nervous and scared.

Mark’s been in enough relationships to know that first kisses no longer scare him.

But he wants more. In his enthusiasm, Mark almost pushes Howard off the wooden bench by accident. Gary nearly pisses himself laughing.

Howard can steady himself against the wooden armrest just in time. He chuckles against. ‘Steady there, mate.’

‘Sorry,’ Mark laughs, and he continues kissing his friend in a way Howard’s never been kissed before – not since he snogged Gary, anyway.

Mark is slow. He’s dominant. Every now and then, he stops to share a look with Gary. His touches thread the threshold between hard and soft, controlling and caring. Mark may have done things in his life that were bad, but one thing is clear. He’s not a bad lover in any sense of the word, and it makes Howard want to be just as good; show him how just experienced he is.

Howard pushes up his own body to meet Mark’s, his fingers digging into Mark’s hair as they kiss. Mark’s hair is now so long that it could easily cover his eyes, and it’s a bloody big turn-on to be honest. He tugs at the hair on the back of Mark’s head a bit too keenly, and his hands accidentally graze the bandage on Mark’s temple in the process.

Mark cries out in pain. His hand shoots towards his temple.

‘Oh my God. Ow. Ow. Ow.’

Howard stops what he was doing. He glances at Gary, who looks mortified. ‘Shit, Mark, are you okay?’

Mark adjusts his position so that he’s no longer half-lying on top of one of his bandmates. He painfully rubs his temple, which Gary can see in the light of the campfire has started bleeding again.

‘Oof. I forget for a second there that I’d injured me head,’ Mark says. He presses his fingers to his bandage, and they come away with blood. ‘Oh, it seems to be bleeding as well. That’s not good, is it? Ow.’

Howard’s face is the perfect mix of worry and arousal. ‘I’m so sorry, Mark. Shit.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly, this wasn’t your doing,’ Mark says even though his temple feels like someone’s stabbed him there with a fork. ‘It’s just the wound on me head choosing the worst ever moment to remind me that it’s still there, is all. I probably shouldn’t be doing anything that involves me face for the rest of the evening. The pain seems to be fading again now, though.’

Gary awkwardly clears his throat. ‘I’m guessing now is not the right time to ask who’s the best kisser in the band, Mark?’ Here, Mark stops rubbing his temple so he can give Gary a sweet two-fingered salute. ‘Yeah, I thought as much.’

‘Honestly, Gaz – how can you even think about something like that? I could be bleeding to death, you know!’ Mark gives Gary a wink before turning to Howard, who’s sitting closest to the bandage on his head. ‘Could you check if the bandage is still in place, How? I feel like I’m bleeding all over.’

With Mark’s consent, Howard starts carefully checking whether the bandage on his head is still in place with the tips of his fingers. The material is so red that it looks like they applied it over a week ago. ‘You’ve bled right through,’ he says. ‘We’ll need to replace that as soon as we can. You might need stitches, actually.’

‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Mark pouts.

‘No, me neither,’ Howard mumbles. Mark continues rubbing his temple in a painful manner, and he feels a pang of guilt in his chest. If only he’d taken it slow, then Mark wouldn’t be in pain right now. ‘I’m so sorry, mate. I should have been more careful kissin’ you just now. Digging me hands into your hair probably wasn’t such a good idea.’

Mark blushes. Howard digging his fingers into his hair was by far his favourite part of the kiss. ‘Don’t worry about it. I got lost in the moment too.’

Howard cocks his left eyebrow. ‘Cos I’m the best kisser in the band, right?’

Mark sticks out his tongue at Howard. Next to him, Gary gives a snort of incredulous laughter. As if. ‘I’m not saying anything, Mr Donald. You were good, though. Both of you.’

Mark kisses his mates again, once more for good luck, and immediately after Howard and Gary share an equally sweet kiss on the mouth in front of him. It’s a bit weird, watching your mates kissing each other after you’ve just snogged them as well, but it’s also one of the hottest things he’s ever seen without a doubt. If he wasn’t still sporting a massive cut on his head and leg, Mark probably would have done a lot more than just kissing. He would have allowed his friends to make love to him all night, on the bench, right here; their naked bodies lit by the campfire.

Unfortunately, Mark’s injuries mean that he’s not only in pain but feeling exhausted too. He has to stifle a yawn behind his hand. ‘Phew. I’m tired. Aren’t you guys tired?’

Howard laughs out loud. ‘How can you be tired after we just did that?’

‘I know.’ Mark bites his lip in embarrassment. ‘I can’t help it – I’m absolutely exhausted after everything we’ve been through. I think if the bedroom was still here I’d take another nap.’ He runs his hand along the flat top of the bench. ‘Do you think benches are nice places to sleep on? I’ve never tried. If only the bedroom hadn’t disappeared . . .’

Gary looks at the door they all walked out of. Maybe it’s just the campfire making him see things that aren’t there, but he’s pretty sure the door has changed again. It looks less rotten than it did fifteen minutes ago, and the shape seems to have changed a little too. It gives Gary the weird impression that the cabin is “back to normal”, or as normal a magical wooden cabin can get anyway. If he’s right and the cabin changes according to their moods and needs, the bed is going to be one of the things the cabin will provide for them.

‘D’you know what, I’ve got a feeling the bedroom’s back again.’ Gary gets up from the bench suddenly and offers his mates his hands. ‘Come, let’s have a look.’

Despite his obvious confidence, Gary’s rewarded with two doubtful looks. Mark has no idea how magical wooden cabins work, but he’s pretty sure that they aren’t capable of quickly rebuilding an entire bedroom. Once it’s gone, it’s gone forever.

‘The bedroom vanished in thin air, didn’t it?’ Mark looks at Howard, who nods to show he agrees. ‘It won’t be there anymore.’

‘Trust me, the bedroom will be there,’ Gary insists with unshakeable confidence. He’s seen enough science-fiction movies to have figured out how the cabin works by now. ‘You just have to believe.’

Against better judgment, Mark and Howard accept Gary’s hands and leave the comforts of the campfire. They enter the cabin the way they left it, through the door next to the bench.

Mark and Howard gasp simultaneously.

Gary was right. They have stepped into the bedroom; the same one Mark took a nap in previously, along with ensuite bathroom and a comfortable double bed. The same bedroom that disappeared just fifteen minutes ago.

Gary gives his mates a smug look. ‘See? Told you it’d be back again.’

Howard’s mouth is hanging open from shock. Looking over his shoulder, he can see that the door they stepped through has completely disappeared. In its place, there is now a brand-new watercolour painting of a dog that looks eerily like Gary’s. The only doors in the bedroom are the ones that were already there. Apart from the painting of the dog, the bedroom appears to be identical to the one Mark slept in earlier.

‘I can’t believe this,’ Mark whispers to himself. He addresses Gary with newfound admiration. ‘How did you know?’

Gary digs his hands into the pockets of his trousers and shrugs. He wants to say that he once watched an episode of a famous science-fiction series wherein there was a house not dissimilar to their wooden cabin that was able to reconvert every single atom of its being into different matter, making it possible to have one room exist in a different, relative dimension to another room whilst constantly changing and dematerializing according to the wishes and needs of its inhabitants, but Gary doesn’t want to come across as a nerd.

‘I just had a feeling,’ he says. ‘The cabin gives us whatever we need, even when we don’t know it, really. I reckon that’s why the bedroom disappeared when it did: Mark needed a moment alone, so that’s what the cabin gave us. Obviously it’s now decided to come back again cos we needed it to.’

‘Yeah, that makes sense,’ Howard nods. ‘You did say you wanted to take a nap, Mark.’

Mark nods slowly. Just the idea of taking a nap causes him to yawn. He rubs his eyes and looks longingly at the bed. ‘I feel like I’m about to fall asleep just standing here, to be honest. Do you mind? I’ll just lie down for a quick kip.’

Mark yawns again, and seeing it makes Gary yawn too. Before they know it, they’re all yawning like a bunch of tired middle-aged men. Clearly the excitement of getting lost in the woods and kissing each other has gotten the better of them.

‘D’you know what, I reckon we could all do with a nap,’ Gary says after the contagious chain of yawning has died down. He suddenly has trouble keeping his eyes open. He feels like he’s been up for twenty-four hours.

‘Same here,’ says Howard. He looks around the room. It has a wardrobe, a bedside cabinet, several pillows, a duvet, a chandelier and even a small padded stool, but there’s only the one bed, and he’s too tired to consider that maybe the three of them should just settle in the same bed. ‘Do you reckon there’s a spare bed we could use?’

Gary raises his eyebrows. ‘A spare bed?’

‘Yeah, a spare bed. What else did you have in mind?’

‘Well, we could . . . just . . . sleep . . . together?’ Blushing, Gary gestures vaguely at the king-sized bed. ‘There’s no point in one of us sleeping on the sofa. Especially when the bed looks easily big enough for all three of us.’

Mark’s face has begun to look like that of a goldfish: mouth open, eyes wide in shock. ‘When you say “sleeping together”, Gaz . . .’

‘I meant sharing the same bed,’ Gary sputters. He can feel heat creeping up underneath the collar of his shirt. ‘Like we used to before we got famous. Remember that? We’d all just share the same room cos we didn’t have any money to afford proper four-star hotels.’

Howard laughs. He jerks his head at Mark. ‘I guess we now know what Mark and Rob were doing in their room.’

Mark rolls his eyes. ‘I definitely won’t be doing any of that tonight. Not while I still have a cut on me head, anyway. Maybe one day.’

‘But you’re okay with sleeping in the same bed, then?’ Gary can’t believe he’s even asking Mark this, whether he wants to sleep together like they’re boyfriends. Which they are now, really. But it still feels weird. ‘Cos if not we can think of something else.’

‘No, I’m okay with it.’

‘Me too,’ says Howard, yawning again. ‘This place better not force me to wear a pair of silk pyjamas, though.’

They all agree to spend the night together. Conveniently, another pair of pyjamas has appeared on the bedside cabinet, blue ones like Mark’s. For Howard, the cabin has quickly put together a vest and trouser combo like the one he wore in the These Days video. It’s even got his initials.

Whilst Mark briefly disappears into the ensuite bathroom to look for a toothbrush, Howard and Gary stay behind to get dressed. The cabin has unfortunately not bothered to invent a magical way to get changed into your pyjamas without getting half naked, so things become a bit embarrassing to say the least.

Clearly having conveniently forgotten that he’s just snogged Howard and that he’s basically been given permission to lust over him, Gary keeps his eyes trained at the ceiling. He doesn’t want to look at his mate’s chest by accident.

Unfortunately, this makes taking off his shirt ten times more difficult than it has to be.

Not paying attention to where he’s putting his arms, Gary’s arms get suddenly stuck in his long sleeves. He’s blinded by his shirt. He has twisted the material of his shirt to such an extent that he can’t take it off anymore. It’s fair to say he looks like a bit of a twat.

Gary tries to utter a cry for help, but his nose and mouth are covered by the material of his shirt so it ends up sounding a bit like he’s blowing raspberries. Howard’s too busy putting on his own vest and trouser combo to notice, and it’s only when Gary tries to frantically wave his stuck arms in the air that he gets his mate’s attention. In the background, Mark is running the tap; he must have found a toothbrush.

By now, Howard has already changed into his vest and silk trousers. He laughs out loud when he sees Gary’s upper body being stuck in his long-sleeved shirt. ‘You all right there, mate?’

‘Prfftp,’ Gary says, which basically translates as Don’t just stand there, you dope.

Howard laughs, then helps Gary pull his shirt over his head. It’s not meant to be an erotic gesture at all, but it still leaves Gary feeling rather flustered because he’s often fantasised about Howard taking off his shirt under very different circumstances.

Gary’s suddenly quite naked whereas Howard is not. He looks at his own shirtless chest and then at Howard giving his body an obvious once-over, and he flushes. He runs his hand through his hair, patting down the bits of hair that have ended up sticking up because of his shirt. ‘T-thanks, How.’

‘You know, I think I’m beginning to see why Mark wants us to share dressing rooms again now,’ Howard says. He leaves a considerable pause between this sentence and the next, leaving Gary to think that he’s about to say something like, Wow, Gaz, I can’t believe that you still look like a Greek god even in your forties. Let’s have a quick shag. ‘You obviously can’t take off your clothes on your own.’

Gary mock gasps. He slaps Howard’s arm with the back of his hand. ‘You wish, lad. I’m telling you – I can manage perfectly on me own.’

‘Can you, though? Cos your trousers are on the wrong way round.’

Gary’s eyes flick down at his own crotch. ‘Huh. That’s true, that.’

Gary adjusts his trousers as quickly as he can. Instead of helping, Howard watches the display with a smug grin on his face. He only catches a one-second glimpse of Gary’s boxers, but it tells him everything he needs to know.

‘Star Wars boxers. Cute.’

Gary flushes. He tightens the strings of his silk trousers and tries putting on his pyjama top, but he’s feeling rather flustered and nervous. His hands are shaking. He doesn’t seem to be able to button up his shirt. He shoots his mate a helpless look. ‘Erm, a little help here?’

Howard’s eyes nearly roll out of his skull, but he helps Gary out anyway. His fingers purposefully touch Gary’s skin every time they reach another button, and by the time he reaches the top button Gary’s trousers have become noticeably tighter.

‘You’re so fucking sexy, Gaz,’ Howard purrs, and he dips down for a kiss on the mouth.

Gary’s response is instantaneous. He pulls Howard as close as it’s physically possible to do, and they lose themselves in the moment. Every smattering of nervousness Gary previously felt in his body leaves him.

It’s a fucking good kiss, even more overwhelming than the first one, and Gary closes his eyes so he can take it all in. There’s Howard’s smell; his lips; those strong, big hands, making their way down the small of his back; the stubble against his cheek; the moans he feels vibrated against his mouth.

It’s so good that Gary doesn’t spot Mark staring at them in the doorway at first. But once he does, Gary’s kisses only become harder. He makes a proper show of it, pushing up his chest against Howard’s strong body and digging his fingernails into his neck. It turns him on. He wants Mark to know what’s waiting for him; show him what he’ll get if they ever make love. Suddenly he wishes he hadn’t asked Howard to help him put on his shirt after all.

God, he loves this place.

Unfortunately, Mark’s wound has decided to bleed again. Quite badly, in fact. And whilst watching Howard and Gary getting it on is obviously one of the best things he’s ever seen, he’d rather not bleed to death. He clears his throat, and his mates stop snogging on cue. Gary sheepishly runs a hand through his hair.

‘Um. Hello. So sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you guys could help me replace the bandage on me head?’

Howard cocks an eyebrow. ‘Was you watching us the entire time, Mark?’

‘No?’ Mark responds unconvincingly. ‘Maybe. I didn’t mean to.’

‘You kinky bastard.’

Mark flushes. ‘Will you guys help me or not?’

Howard and Gary exchange looks. ‘You do it, mate,’ Gary says. ‘I’m useless with all that stuff. I’ll just nip into the living room and check if the front door is locked.’

With that agreed, Howard takes Mark by the hand into the bathroom to change his bandage. In the living room, Gary does a quick check of all the doors and windows, just in case there are murderers roaming the woods after all. Thankfully, the front door seems to be fitted with a security guard, one of those swing locks that help prevent forced entry. Any potential murderers will have a hard time getting inside – assuming they can even find the cabin at all. Gary wouldn’t be surprised if the cabin came with some sort of magical cloaking device.

Gary returns to the bedroom ten minutes later. At the same time, Mark emerges from the bathroom sporting a brand new bandage on his head. Judging by a small red patch on his neck, he and Howard have been busy kissing.

Lucky sods, Gary thinks with envy, until he remembers with a jolt that he’s been snogging Mark and Howard too. He still needs to get used to this whole “having a relationship with two people” thing – especially if it’s going to involve sleeping with them.

Sharing a bed with just one lover is awkward enough, but sharing a bed with two? That’s just bloody weird, even if Gary was the one who suggested it in the first place. Sleeping together is going to make their relationship more real than he ever thought it would be. It’s going to give it life; stop it from being just a one-time thing and transform it into something tangible.

Knowing as much, the boys all glance at the bed like it’s some sort of terrifying fire-breathing dragon. It’s beginning to daunt on them that they’re about to do something they’ve never done before.

‘So who’s going to sleep in the middle, then?’ Howard asks to take the edge off.

Two hands shoot in the air.

‘I can’t sleep on the edge of the bed,’ Gary argues. ‘I’m telling you now, I’ll fall off.’

‘But I’m the youngest,’ Mark counters. ‘And I’m still a bit shaken from everything that happened tonight. I think I’ll feel a lot safer sleeping in the middle.’

Judging by the way Gary and Mark are looking at him, Howard is the one who has the final say about this, apparently.

‘Sorry, Gaz, but I’m with Mark on this one,’ he says.

Mark utters a triumphant sound. He pulls back the duvet and gets into bed, making sure that he lies exactly in the middle. Then Howard and Gary join in and things become unnecessarily more complicated.

They spend ages trying to get comfortable. Mark’s leg decides to act up again, meaning that he can only lie on one side. Howard hoards all the available pillows, and no extra pillows appear. Gary keeps pulling the duvet towards him. They’re like cats, tossing and turning and never lying in one position for long.

To make matters worse, they realise too late that the lights in the bedroom are still on. Howard reluctantly gets out of bed to turn off the lights, but that only complicates things further. Gary moans that it’s suddenly too dark and that it makes him a little afraid while Howard rightly argues that ‘it’ll be dark when you close your eyes, anyway.’

In the end, they all agree to turn off the lights in the bedroom but keep the ones in the bathroom turned on. That way, there’s still a tiny strip of light illuminating the floor on Gary’s side of the bed. Gary instantly feels calmer.

‘I swear to God the bed wasn’t this small two hours ago,’ Howard groans as he gets back into bed and pulls the duvet over his body. They’re all sort of lying on their backs and staring at the ceiling. ‘I bet it’s bloody shrunk.’

‘It does feel like that, doesn’t it?’ This comes from Gary. He feels like he’s lying precariously close to the edge. ‘Sleeping on a bench doesn’t seem like such a bad idea now, actually.’

‘Or in the car,’ Howard adds. The others can’t see his expression in the dark, but he sounds vexed. ‘At least the car was big enough for three people – the duvet’s not even covering my feet.’

‘Same here. Me back hurts like hell as well,’ Gary says. He’s not used to lying on his back, and he’s too nervous to lie on his side in case Mark doesn’t feel like spooning him. ‘As much as I bloody love this cabin, I don’t think I’ve felt this uncomfortable since we had to stay in that two-star hotel in Aston years ago.’

‘You mean the hotel with the bumps in the matrasses? That was much better than this bed.’

‘I know,’ Gary sighs. ‘God, me back’s aching like hell.’

‘Oh, stop complaining you two,’ says Mark all of a sudden. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the bed – you’re just not lying properly. Here, let me show you.’

Mark demonstratively pulls up the duvet so it covers all three of their bodies. He has to stifle a groan of pain when rolls over on his right side, facing away from Gary.

‘Spoon me, Mr Barlow,’ he orders, and he feels Gary nervously wrapping his arms around his tummy and spooning him in response. Mark deliberately pushes out his arse so that it’s pressed against Gary’s crotch; a small taster of what may be about to come. He then pulls Howard closer and rests his head contently on his chest. He holds on to Howard’s body like a pillow and closes his eyes. ‘Is this better, you guys?’

‘Yeah,’ Howard whispers. He sounds different. Aroused.

‘Y-yeah,’ Gary echoes, his nervous words palpable on the back of Mark’s head. He kisses Mark there. And again. I don’t ever want to leave this place, he thinks.

Howard starts kissing Mark too. He dips down to kiss his mate on the lips, and all of a sudden Mark has two men kissing him: Gary on the back of his neck; Howard on his mouth and cheeks.

Being kissed by two men at the same time is so good that Mark moans softly into Howard’s mouth. He rolls his arse slowly up and down Gary’s crotch even though he has no intention of shagging him tonight. In his head, he’s already thinking about what they’re going to do once his wounds have healed.

Over the next five minutes, they quietly explore each other in the dark. Howard and Gary know that every touch could potentially hurt Mark, so they take things slow. They breathe new life into their friend’s body with every touch they make, stopping every now and then to make sure his cuts aren’t bleeding. Their hands don’t come anywhere near Mark’s trousers or their own. Kissing is all they do.

As a result, sleep comes to Mark quickly and peacefully. He has his friends to thank: their touches are so gentle that he sleeps within minutes. That night, Mark has the best night’s sleep he’s had for years.

***

The next morning, Mark wakes up in nearly the same position he fell asleep in. It’s still dark. Dim yellow light shines through the thin crack in the bedroom door. Two pairs of arms are wrapped around his middle. He feels every exhale from Gary’s mouth leaving goosebumps on the back of his neck. Gary’s spooning him still, his crotch inches away from Mark’s arse, just as he remembers it from last night. On the other side, Howard’s face is so close to his own that Mark might be able to count every scar and blemish if the lights were on. He’s sleeping like a log; even Mark’s soft lips touching his cheeks don’t wake Howard.

Soon, Mark dozes off again. He dreams of first dates and love songs; songs that are so good that he cries when he performs them. The dates Mark goes on in his dreams are equally as wonderful. They involve walks in the park, first-date gifts and hot nights in Gary’s king-sized bed. The love they make is so fucking good that Mark moans in his sleep.

By the time Mark wakes for a second time, the sun has come up. Judging by the wooden clock on the wall, it’s already nine o’clock in the morning. One of the windows is ajar. Its curtains are half-open. Thick beams of sunlight fall through the windows that look out at the forest, basking the bedroom in a warm yellow glow. There’s a pleasant smell in the room: the smell of petrichor and trees mixed with lingering hints of Howard’s cologne on Mark’s skin. The only sound in the room is that of the ticking clock and the birds chirping in the trees. Slowly, the events of the previous night come back to him: his first kiss with Gary, snogging Howard, having his friends touching him simultaneously until they all dozed off.

He smiles contently at himself. This is heaven, he thinks, and he starts placing soft kisses on Howard’s cheeks until it wakes him up.

In spite of the quite wonderful kisses, Howard doesn’t seem that pleased to be woken up. He groans into Mark’s soft mouth and pushes his mate gently away from him. He has to sit upright when a single beam of light from a crack in the curtains catches his eye and momentarily blinds him. He looks around the room in a disoriented manner. On the other side of the bed, Gary’s fast asleep. ‘What time is it?’

‘Nine-ish.’ Mark sits up too. He briefly puts his hands to his temple to make sure his bandage is still there. He doesn’t seem to have bled through, thank God. ‘I’ve slept like a log, haven’t you? I can’t remember the last time I slept this well. The bed is so comfy. I wish I could take it home with me.’

‘I guess,’ Howard grumbles. His eyes droop closed again.

‘Did you have any dreams? I did,’ Mark goes on in an excited whisper. ‘I had this wonderful dream that we all went on a first date together and it was so good, How. We went for dinner at this lovely restaurant and it tasted amazing and afterwards we went back to Gary’s to make love . . . I still get goosebumps just thinking about it. If only I wasn’t injured or we could have done something like that last night . . .’

Howard fixes Mark with a drowsy look. Whilst sharing a bed with Mark Owen (and a sleeping Gary Barlow) is obviously one of the best things in the world, he’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel about the fact that Mark has already spoken more words in the past five minutes than Howard does all day. It’s way too early for this.

‘I have no idea how you can be this active at nine in the morning, Mark.’ Howard glances at Gary, who looks slightly comatose to be honest. His mouth is half-open, and he’s drooling. Charming. ‘I usually don’t talk to anyone until I’ve had my first cup of coffee, and I don’t think there’s a coffee machine in ‘ere.’

Mark flushes. He has trouble keeping his voice low, he’s so excited. ‘Sorry. I’m just so happy, you know. I can’t believe that I’m actually here, sharing a bed with you guys. It’s just amazing, isn’t it? It still feels like a dream. I actually can’t remember the last time I woke up feeling like th—’

Howard puts his finger to Mark’s lips. He can barely keep his eyes open. ‘Less talking, more kissing.’ He dips down to kiss Mark on the mouth then, and the world disappears.

Howard soon finds more energy within himself. He kisses his friend as quietly as he can. All their touches happen underneath the duvet, touching only the spots they feel comfortable exploring. It’s wonderful; not even Mark’s right leg decides to act up again, and Howard manages to pull his friend on top of him without hurting him. For the first time in his life, Howard doesn’t mind that he’s been wakened.

But like everything else have done together so far, the morning kisses are over far too soon. Gary stretches suddenly, and he ends up hitting Mark on the head.

Gary opens his tired eyes to the sight of Mark rubbing his temple and straddling Howard, who looks redder than usual. His friends awkwardly remove themselves from each other’s grasp, and it takes Gary a second to realise that his mates probably weren’t in the middle of discussing their Greatest Hits tour. ‘Were you guys . . . in the middle of something?’

Howard rolls his eyes. ‘No, we was just trying to braid each other’s hair,’ he answers sarcastically.

Mark’s face lights up. ‘I’d love that, actually. I could try that on tour, having a braid in me hair.’

‘Please don’t,’ Howard quips.

‘Why not? Me hair’s long enough for it. Good morning, by the way, Mr Barlow,’ Mark adds cheerfully.

‘Morning, Mark,’ Gary laughs.

‘Morning, Gaz,’ Howard says in between yawns.

Gary straightens so that they’re all sitting next to each other in bed, the duvet still covering their lower bodies. He can’t help but notice that Howard’s right hand is hidden underneath the duvet – rubbing one of Mark’s body parts, no doubt. ‘How long have you guys been up, then?’

Mark looks at the clock on the log wall. It’s a quarter past nine. ‘About fifteen minutes, I think. And we weren’t really braiding each other’s hair, you know.’

Gary laughs out loud. God, he loves this place. ‘No, I got that. Lucky bastards, snogging each other while I was still asleep – you should have woken me up!’

‘You’re awake now, aren’t you?’ Howard purrs, and he bends forward so he can meet Gary on the lips. It’s just a soft snog compared to the one they shared after getting changed last night, but it’s equally as wonderful – romantic too, with Howard finding Gary’s hand underneath the duvet and squeezing it tight.

Then Mark joins in, the slag. Within seconds, things become a little harder. Needier. Mark ignores the pain he feels in his right calve.

This time, Howard’s the lucky one. Gary and Mark nearly fall over each other trying to kiss him on the mouth first.

Whereas Howard previously had just one pair of hands touching his body, he now has two. He’s simultaneously being kissed on his mouth and neck.

Then his shoulders. His naked arms, standing out in his white vest.

In spite of Mark’s intentions of not getting dirty until his wounds have healed, he feels a need somewhere deep inside – a need to get to know his mates more than this, regardless of the patchwork of blue and green bruises on his body.

He wants to make love to them.

The bed gives a complaining creak when Mark pushes Howard gently into the matrass and crawls on top of him. He feels like getting naked even if it hurts. He tries to take off his pyjama top in between kisses, but then a loud sound makes him start.

They all stop to listen, their intentions entirely forgotten.

‘Gurglllbpptrtp.’

Gary and Mark share a nervous look. Mark straightens to survey the bedroom. Nothing in the room seems capable of making such a strange gurgling noise.

Then he looks at the window that’s ajar. His heart skips a beat. Could one of the creatures that he saw in the forest last night have returned to finish the job of killing him? Perhaps the eerie shadows that he saw weren’t just trees after all.

‘Bllpprt.’

And again! This time, Mark’s eyes flick towards Gary’s tummy. He’s pretty sure the sound came from that direction. ‘Is that you, Gaz?’

Gary puts his hand to his tummy. Seconds later, the sound repeats itself. Where Gary put his hand, he can feel his tummy rumbling like a small earthquake. ‘Yeah, that’s me, that. Now that I think about it, I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning . . . I didn’t even eat the granola bars Howard took with him from the car.’

‘We could make breakfast in the kitchen?’ Mark offers. His remark is rewarded with bewildered laughs from his bandmates. ‘What’s so funny about that?’

‘Nothing. It’s just – we don’t have a kitchen, remember?’ Gary points out.

Mark blinks. ‘Yes . . . we do?’

‘No, we don’t,’ Howard agrees.

‘We do, though,’ Mark insists. ‘There’s a stove and everything. It’s literally right next to the living room. It was there when I ran into the cabin last night.’

Mark’s insistence that the cabin has a kitchen even though his mates could swear that they didn’t see one yesterday has made everyone feel a bit confused. They postpone snogging Howard to have a look in the room next-door.

Just like Mark said, there now appears to be a kitchen where Gary insist there was previously just a log wall and a painting of a dog. It’s an open kitchen, meaning that it’s directly connected to the living room. Like the rest of the cabin, every cupboard and cabinet in the kitchen is made of wood. It’s a bit on the small side, but other than that it looks perfect.

‘This definitely wasn’t there yesterday,’ Gary says, running his hand across the kitchen’s pristine counter top. From here, he can see that the kitchen comes with a sink, a stove, several wooden cupboards and even an oven. ‘I think I would have noticed a kitchen being slap bang in the middle of the living room.’

‘Really?’ Mark frowns. ‘It was here the entire time.’

Gary looks at Howard for support. Howard just shrugs. ‘Who cares? I’m fucking starving.’

They all agree to have breakfast. It’s not a terribly luxurious kitchen, but Mark reckons it has all the things they need to prepare three bowls of porridge, which just so happens to be Gary’s favourite kind of breakfast anyway.

Feeling like he hasn’t contributed much on their journey thus far, Mark puts himself in charge of making breakfast while Howard and Gary attempt to make the bed together. What with the cabin being magical, they spend quite a lot of time arguing whether they should make the bed at all.

‘I’m telling you, Howard, the bed isn’t going to make itself,’ comes Gary’s raised voice from the bedroom.

‘I know that, Gaz, but maybe if we just wished really hard . . .’

Mark can just about make out Gary’s voice affectionately calling Howard an idiot before putting a bowl of water on to heat for his porridge. He even manages to find a toaster and a loaf of bread that’s been marked with a bread clip that says “Expiry date: never”. How convenient.

Several minutes pass. Mark’s in the middle of slicing a sandwich in half when he feels a strong pair of arms snaking around his tummy. Gary’s. Mark leans back into the embrace, feeling every inch of Gary’s trained body pressed up against his own. In their thin silk pyjamas, even the simplest of touch feels as intimate as if they were wearing nothing at all.

‘Have I ever mentioned how fucking good you look in those pyjamas of yours?’ Gary sounds nervous. He whispers the words into Mark’s ear before kissing him there, and Mark giggles. Howard’s sat on the sofa in the living room, watching the display with keen interest after he’s just spent ten minutes painstakingly making their king-sized bed. ‘I could wake up in here to the sight of your pert arse in those trousers for the rest of me life . . .’

‘Careful, Mr Barlow,’ Mark whispers as he stirs his porridge at the same time, ‘we still have to eat, you know! I don’t want you messing up me porridge with those kisses of yours . . .’

In spite of Mark’s best intentions to put together a decent breakfast, Gary keeps kissing him. Mark allows himself to stop for a moment. Putting his hands on the kitchen counter to steady himself, he rubs his arse slowly against Gary’s crotch like he did in bed, except this time it all goes a bit wrong.

Mark takes his eyes off his pan long enough for the water to reach boiling point, and his porridge boils over. Mark swears. The stove, previously spotless, is now covered in steaming porridge. It looks fucking disgusting.

‘Let’s all just agree not to do anything sexy while we’re busy cooking,’ Mark says after they’ve finished scrubbing the stove some time later. Although it now looks like cement, he’s more or less managed to salvage the porridge. He hands his mates one bowl each, and they eat at the dining table together; another last-minute addition to the room that wasn’t there this morning.

‘Shame,’ Howard says before slowly licking a clump of porridge clean off the back of his spoon, ‘I wouldn’t have minded seein’ you two get it on in the kitchen.’

A piece of porridge gets stuck in Gary’s throat, and he ends up having a big coughing fit. When the coughing finally dies down, Gary admits that he still has to get used to the fact that the three of them are now an item. ‘I still have to pinch myself every time I get to kiss you two,’ he says as much. ‘Can you believe that this time yesterday we didn’t even know we liked each other? I felt like me heart was about to give out when I kissed you in the kitchen just now, Mark.’

‘I could tell,’ Mark says. ‘You sounded nervous.’

‘Can you blame me?’ Gary laughs. ‘I can’t remember the last time I kissed a guy like that.’

‘But you’ve . . . been with men? Before us?’ Mark asks. He’s never asked Gary this before.

‘A couple of times,’ Gary nods. ‘Nothing serious, though. I always fancied you two more.’

Mark turns to Howard, who is in the process of squeezing nearly half a bottle of honey into his bowl of porridge. ‘What about you, Mr Donald?’

‘Same as Gaz. I’ve been with some guys here and there, but nothing serious. You’re by far the sexiest guys I’ve ever kissed, though. Even if your moustache is fucking itchy, Mark.’

Mark sticks out his tongue at Howard, and they all burst out laughing. There’s something special about today. There’s something in the air; something that wasn’t there before. The feeling manifests as butterflies in Gary’s stomach, fluttering every time Mark reaches out to squeeze his hand. He feels it every time Howard looks at him.

It’s by far the best morning he’s ever had.

***

That morning, they laugh more than they ever have. They kiss. They drink tea – oh so much tea; more than the cabin can provide for them. They even write songs about their adventures. Some are dark and others are light, but the songs all have one common idea: the three of them, as a unit. For the first time ever, they write songs about the band in the shape of a love song. Lyrics about their shared history take on a different shape. They’re a little sexier. Softer. A song that could be interpreted by a fan about the band coming back together could also easily be about the band, coming together.

When the clock strikes eleven, Gary, Howard and Mark are all sat around the living room table in their pyjamas, the floor littered with pieces of paper from a notebook that keeps replenishing its papers. Gary can’t remember the last time the three of them were on such a creative high. They’ve written at least four songs in under the past hour, easily a record number.

But as with all highs, there eventually comes a moment when the men have to come back down again. It happens when they stumble upon a difficult lyric they don’t know how to finish. They have no rhyming dictionaries or the internet to turn to, and the unfinished lyric bothers them enough to break their stride.

Mark looks at his bandmates staring at their handwritten lyrics like it’s a mathematical equation they don’t understand, and he feels something shifting in the air. It’s a subtle shift, but it’s everywhere. Any moment now, the cabin could decide to disintegrate into the morning air, leaving nothing but dust and leaves. The moment Mark’s wounds have healed or one of them decides he wants to go home, the cabin will crumble beneath their feet because that’s what it’s been designed to do. They can’t stay here. This place is not theirs to claim.

Mark looks at the sheet of lyrics in his hands. The songs they’ve written have the potential to be beautiful, but it’s not as if the cabin is magically going to provide them with a studio, and recording songs on your phone takes more effort than it’s worth. The only way they’re going to turn their lyrics into songs is by going home, to London, which he can tell everyone is dreading because this morning has been the best they’ve ever had. The lads always spend the morning together on tour, but this is different. This is pretty much how their mornings will be for the rest of their lives. There’ll be kissing and touching and songwriting and more kissing and perhaps even sex if that’s what they want.

But they won’t be spending their mornings here.

‘These songs we’ve written . . .’ Mark chews on the inside of his cheek. ‘What are we going to do with them? This place doesn’t have a studio.’

Gary’s tummy does an unpleasant cartwheel. Mark saying that the cabin doesn’t have a studio . . . he’s basically suggesting that they go to a place that does have one. As in, their own homes. London. He doesn’t want to go back to London. ‘We could try wishing for one,’ he says.

‘You know that’s not how the cabin works,’ Howard whispers, and silence covers the room like a cloak. Their minds work like clockwork trying to come up with a way to record their songs without having to leave the comforts of the cabin, but no solutions come. They’ll have to go home.

‘Guys . . .’ Mark looks at his bandmates. Gary in particular looks quite sad. ‘You know we can’t stay here forever, don’t you, Gaz?’

‘Do we have to? It’s so perfect, this place.’ Gary gestures at the living room around him, basked in beautiful morning light. The flowers on the bouquet – brand new ones – fill the room with a comforting aroma reminiscent of spring. The temperature inside the living room is so pleasant that they haven’t had to burn a fire in the hearth. ‘It’s got everything we need, really. It’s got a bed, we can write . . . we can even cook if we want to.’

‘But it’s not home,’ Mark whispers.

‘And like Mark said, it hasn’t got a studio,’ Howard points out quietly. ‘Our songs will go to waste.’

Gary doesn’t know what to say to that. The high that he felt from writing that morning has now faded at last. In its place, there’s something that feels an awful lot like dread. If he was still writing, he might spontaneously pen a song about the uncertainties of love. ‘I really wish we could stay here,’ he mumbles. ‘We haven’t even talked about how we’re going to date each other without people in our lives finding out about it.’

‘People still think we’re straight after all these years so I don’t think we have to worry about that,’ Howard shrugs.

‘You’ve got a point there.’ Gary rubs the back of his head. ‘I still don’t wanna leave, though. Look at this place. It’s perfect.’

‘Yeah, I know. I don’t wanna leave either,’ says Howard.

‘But we have to,’ Mark adds miserably, for last night was the first time in years that he slept peacefully.

I

After a short discussion about what they should do next, the lads reluctantly agree that they should leave the cabin while it’s still light. Leaving in the morning should give them a bigger chance of reuniting with the road.

It takes them a couple of minutes to get changed into their day clothes. Mark insists that he wants to clean the cabin before leaving, but Howard reckons there’s no need as the cabin will likely disappear the moment they step out of it anyway.

At twelve o’clock, Mark and Gary are stood outside of the cabin in their coats, their handwritten lyrics tucked away in Mark’s inside pocket. Howard’s standing a little farther away to investigate something that looks a lot like a trail of footsteps – their own, presumably. The weather is a lot milder compared to yesterday, almost spring-like, but Gary couldn’t feel colder. Like Mark, he still feels conflicted about leaving.

Mark rubs the small of his back. ‘You okay?’

Gary shakes his head as he stares hard at the exterior of the cabin so that he won’t ever forget what it looks like. Mark’s already taken several photos of it. ‘I don’t usually get this sentimental, but I can’t get over the fact that this is where we first kissed.’

‘I know. We’ll be a lot more comfortable kissing in our own beds, though.’

‘I guess,’ Gary says. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

At the same time, Howard returns to the cabin. He points a finger at the trail of footsteps that he was investigating earlier. ‘I reckon we should just follow that track. If we’re lucky, it might lead us back to the road. We’ll discuss our next step then.’

They reluctantly turn away from the cabin. Mark utters a genuinely heartfelt ‘Bye, cabin’, and they follow the track of footprints on the ground.

The moment Gary looks over his shoulder to give the log building one last look, his stomach sinks. The cabin is gone. The only thing that remains is the wooden bench that they kissed on last night, the grass around it so green that it looks like the cabin was never there at all.

Mark wordlessly squeezes his friend’s hand for comfort.

***

The forest is less scary in daylight. It’s rather stunning, actually: an artist’s palette full of different shades of green colours the woods today. The sun is shining. There is no rain. In the background, birds fill the air with their harmonious singsong.

It’s strange, really, how different the forest is during the day. There’s beauty everywhere: there’s beauty in the leaves on the ground; there’s beauty in a splash of pink that Mark finds in a flower tucked away behind a tree; and there’s beauty in the bright blue sky. Mark decides to take photos of literally everything, from a small bird to white clouds appearing behind the trees above. He didn’t get the chance to take any photos last night; the forest was so dark and dangerous that he thought he’d never leave it.

Now, Mark’s actually beginning to wonder whether he’d like to leave the forest at all. Like Gary said earlier, the cabin had everything they needed and more. Inside its brown log walls, they didn’t have to worry about people seeing them together and watching their every move. When they return to London, their relationship may be over as quickly as they started it, relegated to just a one-time thing that they’ll never get to enjoy properly.

That said, the cabin is not their home. Mark knows that; he’s said it as much. As convenient as magical places have turned out to be, Mark would much rather be in a relationship in a place he actually knows, like Gary’s living room or his favourite restaurant in Soho.

What Mark doesn’t know is how they’re actually going to do it, this relationship. Will it be like the relationship he enjoyed in his dreams or will it be far more complicated? Will people find out about it? Will they even be able to have a relationship at all what with them being celebrities?

The only way they’ll ever find out is if they actually go home, to London. It’ll easily be the scariest leg of their journey so far, because going home will be like starting over. It’ll be like having their first kiss all over again. They all know that.

Regardless, Howard is trying his best to lead the way without showing how worried he is. Whilst the forest is obviously a lot easier to navigate during daylight, it doesn’t make it less exhausting. The ground is an unpredictable mix of hard and soft. Their trail of footprints disappears every now and then, and on more than one occasion Gary nearly jumps out of his skin because of an animal darting past. Mark has stopped taking photos.

After just fifteen minutes, they have to take a break because Mark’s leg starts acting up again. Just when the lads are beginning to wonder whether they should have stayed in the cabin after all, Howard spots something. He squeezes Mark’s hand. ‘Can you see that, Mark?’

Mark looks at the part of the woods his mate is pointing at. At first, he sees nothing but a patchwork of emerald, sage and pickle greens set off against the blue sky. He squints. If he looks very carefully, he can see that there seems to be a hint of orange hidden in between the trees, too – an orange so bright that it couldn’t possibly belong to nature.

‘It’s the car!’ Mark cries. He gives Howard a proud smile. ‘You did it, How.’

They start towards the car. It’s hidden behind a thinning wall of green. The trees become few and far between until there are no more trees at all and the grass beneath their feet becomes tarmac.

Howard breathes a sigh of relief. They’ve done it. They’ve left the forest and reunited with the tarmac road that Mark intended to walk down last night, still filled with potholes. And in the same spot as last night, right where Howard and Gary left it, is their orange Suzuki Vitara: muddy and covered in leaves, but other than that, perfect.

Howard doesn’t know how they’ve done it, but they’ve done it. He gives the roof of the Vitara a fond pat. ‘I never thought I’d actually feel ‘appy seein’ this piece of crap again.’

Mark bites his lip. Reuniting with the road is no doubt their best chance of getting home, but they’re not out of the woods yet. ‘The car isn’t going to get us anywhere, though, is it? It’s dead, remember?’

Howard hadn’t thought of that. ‘Shit, you’re right.’ He looks at the road that Mark walked down last night. Even if they walked all day, the nearest village could be miles away. ‘I could see if I can get the car the work now?’

‘You didn’t manage it yesterday,’ Mark points out quietly.

‘I know.’ Howard runs his hand slowly across the roof of the car. Something inside him tells him that the car might be working again; a sort of gut-feeling. In fact, he’s beginning to wonder whether the car was really dead in the first place. Could the car crashing have been the universe deciding it wanted to bring the boys closer together?

Perhaps. With everything that has happened lately, Howard might just be persuaded to believe in almost anything. ‘We did just spend a night in a magical wooden cabin,’ he says. ‘I’m gonna see if I can get the car to start. You never know with these things.’

Gary wants to say, don’t bother, we’ll just walk, no big deal, we could even kiss and shag against a tree if we get bored, but Howard’s already unlocked the doors and sat in the driver’s seat.

He knows it’s awful of him, but deep down Gary hopes the car is still dead. Ever since they left the cabin, he’s been filled with a terrible sense of finality; this fear that once they return to London they’ll forget the journey it took them to get there. He’d rather just stay here. Forever.

Thinking the same thing, Mark squeezes Gary’s hand as they watch Howard putting his key in the ignition. The car starts, and Gary’s chest flows over with a mix of hot and cold. Every single part of the car seems to work again, from the engine to the windshield wipers to the car radio. It’s like the car never even broke down in the first place.

It’s over. If they leave now, they’ll be back in London in under an hour.

‘I guess this is it, huh?’ Gary mumbles as Howard gets out of the car and closes the door. ‘This trip, it’s over now.’

In spite of Howard managing to get the car to start again, the lads all have sombre expressions on their faces. The emotion they’re experiencing is not unlike the one they tend to feel on the last nights of their tours: finality mixed with a melancholic gladness that the tour happened in the first place.

One thing is different, though. You can’t change a tour. You can’t finish a tour on a high and then slap on an extra date the day after. People wouldn’t show up.

But this isn’t a tour.

Mark raises his hand. ‘Can I make a suggestion? What if we took another detour? You know, postpone going home for a while. That wouldn’t hurt, would it? It’s not like we have any serious business that we have to attend to anyway. Well, apart from maybe heading into a studio to record the songs we’ve written. But other than that, I guess it wouldn’t matter if we took the long way home.’

Hope flutters in Gary’s body like a large butterfly. ‘You’d do that, Mark?’

‘If it meant being together for longer, yeah. I would.’ Mark grabs his friends’ hands then, and he smiles in that way that makes your insides go all tingly. ‘I don’t wanna go home yet either, you know.’

‘Neither do I,’ says Howard.

‘Then let’s just drive,’ Mark says. ‘Let’s drive until we find the most beautiful place in the forest.’

‘D’you know what,’ Gary whispers, a big goofy smile lighting up his face, ‘I think we’ve already found it.’

‘Cheesy sod,’ Howard jests. He kisses Gary sweetly on the lips.

Gary chuckles contently, for the kiss is immediately followed by one of Mark’s. ‘So we’re agreed, then? We’re not going home yet?’

‘We’re not going home yet,’ Mark echoes, smiling. They all open their respective car doors, with Mark claiming the backseat and Gary riding shotgun. ‘I do hope the car doesn’t break down again, though.’

‘I do,’ Howard grins. He sits in the driver’s seat, puts on his seatbelt and looks at Mark through his rear-view mirror. ‘We still haven’t checked out how sturdy the backseat is.’

Mark rolls his eyes. ‘You have such a dirty mind, Mr Donald.’

They all laugh, and the sense of finality that they felt fades as Howard drives off slowly down the road. The first part of their adventure may be over, but the real adventure is yet to start: the one where they’ll experience a dozen first times together, from their first intimate touch to their very first date. It’ll be the most difficult thing they’ve ever done, but if their adventure has taught them anything it’s that there’s magic in everything – even Take That.

Within an hour, the car breaks down again.


End file.
